Castlevania: Birth of the Dragon
by Alexander Nicholas Calvo
Summary: Dracula was not always a monster. He was once a man named Mathias Cronqvist. A flawed, conflicted, genius of a man. How did the educated, aristocratic, crusader who piously served the church become a vampire, and eventually the Dark Lord himself, the opposing force to God? From a very young age terrors and tragedy shaped the man into the king of all evil. This is his story.
1. Chapter 1: The Dark Path

**Chapter 1: The Dark Path.**

A young boy crept slowly and silently down a dark hallway. He looked to be about eight or nine years old. He had straight jet black hair down to his shoulders, shimmering pale blue eyes, and a powdery pale complexion. He was clothed in a deep purple night gown of very fine material and craftsmanship, contrasted by his bare and dirty legs and feet. Every step was thoughtful, careful, a step that had been taken dozens of times before. The route had long been mastered, as mastered as it was secret.

The dark halls the boy stealthily trespassed down were that of his family's manor, a large, old, looming abode nestled deeply in a thick foreboding forest. The walls were solid stone, stretching up into a curved, classical-like ceiling. The house was marked throughout by paintings and tapestries, running the gamut from elegant landscapes and portraits to out right abominable depictions of violence. A dark red woolen carpet was spread throughout, covering the cold hard stone of the floor.

Ahead of the boy, down the long and somewhat intimidating hallway, was his destination. A grand iron door marked in outlandish frightening symbols. Golden, almost inflamed, light peered through several small gaps in the frame. The crafty youth continued his silent march. As he approached he began to hear the voices of the people on the other side.

He reached the door at a crouch and pressed his eye up to one of the larger gaps on its side. He was not able to make out much at first, though after a bit of scanning back and forth he could see a group of hooded men spread out across the room. After a moment he could see that they were gathered in a large half circle, and that standing among them, in the center, was a single hood-less man. A severe, domineering, ardent looking man. His eyes a similar color to the boy's, but darker, more consuming, intensely unnerving. He seemed to be leading the ritual, or whatever it was going on. He also happened to be the master of the house, and the boy's father.

The boy pulled back from the door, breath strained, heart pounding. His father was a frightening, strict man, who would not approve of such secret activities. The boy prayed that he hadn't been seen. With a deep breath he peered back into the ghastly chamber.

He could now see that in the center of the circle was a woman, completely nude, heavily with child, and covered in mystifying peculiar tattoos. She struggled and cried out, writhing around on the ground, but she was not bound. She was there as willingly as any of the others present, including the hidden little boy. Her convulsions were not the result of fear or panic. They were but the byproduct of the coming birth. Her baby was well on its way.

The men all began to chant, but it was not in the boy's native tongue, nor any of the several subsequent languages he had acquired in his short life. It was a language that he had never heard before, that very few humans ever had. A guttural, inhuman language, seemingly ill-suited to human phonetics and vocal biology. It was the boy's father that started the chant, and it was promptly repeated by the others, his followers.

"Iä Shub-Niggurath!" "Y'ai'ng'ngah Yog-Sothoth H'ee-L'geb F'ai Throdog Uaaah."

Pressed up against the wall the young boy was aghast with feuding senses of wonder and terror. While this was far from the beginning of his espionage on his father, from the idea that his father was up to things those outside his home would not condone, he had never witnessed anything like this. The chanting continued, the same strange words repeated over and over, for what came to seem like hours to the boy. Even to an excited youth the repetition proved daunting and eventually boring, it did not take terribly long for him to fall back against the wall, and into a deep sleep. The chanting continued.

Some time later, to the sounds of faint thunder, muffled moans, and an abnormal amount of creaks from the old house itself, the boy's eyes slowly blinked open. He was momentarily lost, unaware of where he was or what he had been doing, in far more of a daze than the effects of sleep alone would produce. After a short time the thunder struck much louder outside the house, and the boy's confusion started to fade. He was soon up on his feet, stumbling backward, still slowed a bit by the strange drowsiness. He could tell that his mind was more clouded than it should have been, even given the circumstances.

Something else caught his attention after a moment. The masonry all around him, the carpet, the door, everything was moist, covered in a thin layer of a strange black grime. Gunky algae-like growth splotched up in several places. Small puddles of murky sea like water pooled at various places across the floor. The boy choked and grabbed his nose defensively as a horrible acrid odor gagged him. It should have been immediately noticeable upon waking, but it hadn't been. It was the smell of a dead tide, it was unmistakable, but the only bodies of water for dozens of miles were small rivers and creeks. The entire situation had also become permeated with an immense sensation of primordial dread.

Suddenly there was what sounded like an immense bolt of lightning striking, the biggest loudest lightning strike imaginable, right in in the next room. It shook the foundations of the house so violently that it felt like the whole thing almost came crashing down into rubble. The boy was instantly blasted back to his full senses, heart striking against his rib cage in what felt like an escape attempt, eyes already bursting with tears.

The terrifying crash was immediately followed by screams from the other side of the door, voices begging, crying out in fear, or pain, likely both. Though one voice remained constant, steadfast in the face of terrible peril, that of the boy's father. He continued chanting without interruption, only one or two others struggling to still follow along with him.

There was another loud but much more muffled booming from within the room, the boy felt it as much as he heard it, vibrating out through the house, and within himself. The roaring echo-like chanting now reverberated through the boy's body as well, pulsing down his spine and through his limbs.

The concert of screams continued, progressing in intensity and participation, echoing through the door more primal and desperate by the second. And then... a horrible shriek. Unlike anything the boy had ever heard in his life. So awful, so inhuman, and terrifying, so indescribable that human words fail it utterly.

It was more than enough to send the boy flying from the door, moving down the hall at a dead sprint, not stopping until he crashed into the banister at the end and almost flew over it and plummeted two stories to the hard marble floor of the entry hall below. The screams from within the other room continued frantically, increasing in volume and desperation. Only the boy's father continued the ritual now, his voice booming loud enough to compensate for the loss of his compatriots.

From his new perspective the boy could see that it was raining heavily outside. Lightning strikes flashed in the distance every few seconds, occasionally hitting quite close to the house. The thunder rattled the already diminished foundation, as whatever was currently happening in the ritual taking place in the other room continued to do so as well.

The boy hyperventilated so hard he felt he was moments away from losing consciousness. He felt like he was barely able to pull oxygen from the air at all. His chest and shoulders lifted and fell dramatically. His eyes were wider than they've ever been, and fixed on the door with the familiar, but now somehow dreadful, golden light still escaping from the gaps. Another horrid shriek from the inhuman wastelands of the universe shook the foundation of the house and every soul within it stronger still than any that had preceded it. And the boy was again in flight, down the stairs with an almost supernatural swiftness, stopping at the front door.

Thunder continued to rumble the house, which was taking on a gradually more indecipherable other worldly quality. The walls and floor of the first level also contained the same wet, acrid quality as the second. Whatever heinous, sacrilegious activity was going on in the auditorium had somehow infected the entire house. The boy knew, on a primal level that he could not explain, that he didn't even truly realize himself, that he was very short on time. It wouldn't be long before catastrophe.

He burst through the door like an explosion, sending the old wooden aperture into the stone wall with a loud crack, flying out the large main entryway of the manor, dashing through the pouring rain, into the massive, ancient forest. There was a large area cleared out making a roughly forty yard perimeter around the house. Trees stretched out beyond that in all directions. The boy continued as fast as he could across the cleared land, into the treeline border. He ducked behind a very large stone, pulling himself down, putting the bolder between himself and the house. He lowered himself behind it, peeking over at the house.

Somehow, even after putting so much distance between them, he could still hear his father's chanting. Even more shocking was how the chanting here seemed to be equal in volume to when he had been hidden on just the other side of the door. But now it was more felt than heard, like the booming from before.

The chanting ceased very suddenly. It was replaced by an absolute silence, so complete that it almost seemed to slow time. It was quickly interrupted by another lightning-like crash, louder than all the others, like an explosion. Finally broken, the boy's father began to scream out for his life, in abject horror. He was answered by a scream so loud and monstrous it could only be described as a whaling, overpowering, roar, almost machine like in its garbled, static, pounding. All the forest shook as if the world were falling apart, trees cracking and falling over, cracks opening and sucking up patches of forest into blind, unknown, hells. The boy held onto the rock to stay on his feet.

Suddenly, with a loud crunch the house itself pulsed inward as if deflating, then almost immediately exploded outward into a million pieces, splintered wood, crumbled stone,and the occasional fleshy bit of human raining down all around. The boy took off into the forest, his mind not even attempting to comprehend what he had seen, his survival instincts taking complete control. A third other worldly moan boomed out from behind him.

In the final moments before what was once his lifelong home fell out of sight he managed to turn his head back to look. The view was not clear, but something now sat where his house had been, something roughly its equal in size, the remaining rubble sat on top of it. As it swayed, writhed around back and forth, the rubble rolled off and shifted.

The boy ran as fast as he could, as hard as his young body could withstand, deeper into the woods. The horrid sounds continued behind him, seeming to refuse to dissipate as they should with distance. Though truly it did not matter how fast or how far he ran. His life had already been forever changed, placed onto a unique and tragic path that would echo out into millennia.

The boy's name was Mathias Cronqvist.


	2. Chapter 2: Brothers

**Chapter 2: Brothers.**

Five years had passed since that terrible night in the forest. For the last four of those years Mathias had been living in the Chateau Du San Ursula Monastery. An old temple managed by an order of holy monks that had dedicated their lives to the care of wayward boys, boys with no one else. Mathias had flourished since arriving, seemingly unburdened by the traumas of his past.

He still had his obstinately strong will, a piercingly sharp mind, and enough perseverance to swim across the Mediterranean. He'd always had these qualities to some extent, but now, thanks in large part to what he'd overcome, and what the Chateau had to offer him, he was armed with all the tools needed to overcome any obstacle laid before him.

It certainly helped that his familial stalk was of such a caliber to still hold weight half a decade after literally exploding into almost nothing. The Congvist family, once one of the most respected in the region, now had not a patriarch, a matriarch, or even any residence at all. More than just a name and reputation, Mathias had also inherited his fathers bullish nature, fine health, near perfect physique, and inclination towards leadership. All qualities that seemed almost fine tuned into his blood, more so than Mathias himself had any idea.

He was still a boy but he teetered ever closer to manhood. His dark black hair was longer now, and it hadn't lost it's shadow-like tenebrosity. His face looked almost the same, only more defined, more angular, more like his father's. His attire while not as prestigious as before was still of a more than presentable quality. A white, cotton, long sleeved shirt with a v opening around the neck, dark brown string laced pants, and long leather boots.

The Chateau Du San Ursula Monastery, in the Carpathian mountains was an almost ancient stone temple, having been built over a century before the birth of anyone that now resided within it. It's age gave it a certain homely, comforting spirit. It seemed to somehow care about those that resided within. Years of good work was done here, decades. Children were taken in and raised with love here. Children who had been ripped up by their roots, children whose parents had been taken from them, sometimes violently.

Mathias sat in a room that would have been considered less than modest by most people of his pedigree. It was a slightly cramped but sufficient space. It had a bed, a chair, a desk, a small book shelf, and a closet, more than he needed. He was grateful to have it.

He sat at the desk, an open book in front of him. It was a Latin text book. Sitting next to it was a thick of fine white paper filled from margin to margin with detailed notes. Mathias had been able to read for most of his life,an excessively rare quality for the period, another credit of his familial background. He had studied Latin since he was four years old, but there was always room to improve. Mathias was almost obsessed with perfection, in his studies and in his life. To his right, at the edge of the desk sat a stack of other text books, covering various subjects such as math, history, philosophy, and there was of course a bible.

He moved through his work quickly, scrawling things down on the stack of paper, with an old quill pen. All academic pursuits seemed to come exceptionally easily to him. Matters of the mind posed little difficulty to the young Cronqvist. Due to this he was somewhat alienated among the other orphaned children, but more so of his own accord, and to his own preference. His disposition, intellect, and pedigree almost instinctually pushed him to the fringes, to a position of mysterious superiority.

The Chateau was a warm home, but something about it felt distant to Mathias, temporary, incomplete. He was happy to reside there, grateful to the monks who cared for him and oversaw his education. He was well aware that his natural ability coupled with the academic resources afforded to him there could give him enough of an advantage to some day walk in circles normally relegated only to those of the nobility. He somehow knew deep down that he was destined for big things, monumental things.

A soft knock came at the door, and after a momentary pause it opened. Standing in the open doorway was an old bearded monk, dressed in humble but presentable robed garb. Standing beside him was a small, blonde-haired, blue-eyed boy of about seven. The boy looked lost, like a puppy abandoned by its owner, and scared... so scared, a kind of scared most people could never understand. But Mathias understood it well, at a mere glance he understood intimately. The boy's clothes were dirty, a little tattered up. His face was dirty too, smudged, unwashed for days at least. He appeared as if he'd only just arrived.

The old monk was Father Markus, he had lived in the Monastery for over forty years. He was the first to welcome Mathias when he himself had arrived at the Chateau. He was the first to welcome most of the children who came to live there, having been orphaned as a young boy and brought there himself, he easily empathized with them. Beyond that there was a warmth to the man that made wayward children feel safe. A warmth that was as innate as it was cultivated, "Good afternoon Mathias. How are your studies going?"

"Fine." Mathias answered quickly and mechanically, his gaze locked on the lost boy's eyes. They stared off blankly into nothing, as if not really paying attention to anything going on around him, as if he were somewhere else. Mathias recognized that expressionless look, he'd seen it before, he'd worn it himself.

Father Markus picked up on the reaction and introduced the boy, "Mathias, this is Leon Belmont." There was a small reaction on Leon's face to hearing his name, just a hint of an awareness that something was going on, something involving him. Father Markus continued, "I'm sorry to say that he has lost both of his parents." Markus paused, straining his face in sorrow, Mathias looked him in the eyes, "He's arrived to us in a manner not terribly unlike you yourself did. And now he's going to stay and live here with us, just like you did as well."

Mathias' body language shifted, as he reacted to the mix of new information and old recollections. Father Markus knew more about what he had experienced than anyone else alive, for him to claim that Leon experienced something similar was quite a statement. Mathias's gaze returned back to Leon, with actual sympathy this time, and Leon broke from his trance and looked at Mathias, "I'm very sorry to hear that." Is all Mathias could get out, it came out un-purposefully flat, belaying an insincerity Mathias had not intended. He had never been good at expressing his emotions, worse ever since that night. His strength of mind was balanced by weakness of heart, or at least expressions of it.

Father Markus knew Mathias very well and could pick up on the connection immediately, despite Mathias fumbling his reaction. The father had been hoping for something like that, it was why he had brought Leon to Mathias in the first place, even though he was far from the friendliest or most socially engaging of the children living there. "As you can see Mathias, he won't speak, or even react to me, or any of the other brothers."

Mathias stood up and took a couple steps closer to them, "He's probably still in shock." Again it came out colder than he had intended it to.

"We were hoping that maybe you would be able to get through to him, given the ways in which only the two of you can understand each other. Please do me the favor of showing him around. Making him feel welcome." Father Markus smiled, he knew Mathias wouldn't refuse, "He's already reacted more to you than anyone else here in the Monastery."

Mathias looked down at Leon again, pausing for a moment before he nodded in agreement, "I'm sure I can do that Father Markus." He never broke his gaze on Leon as he said it, finally succeeding in portraying a degree of warmth.

The old man smiled, a smile as honest and comforting as only the elderly can produce. "Thank you very much Mathias"

The old Father patted Mathias on the shoulder and nodded. He turned to Leon and rubbed the top of his head, "Mathias will take good care of you Leon, don't you worry." with that he left the boys to themselves.

Leon stood motionless near the entrance of the room for several moments. Mathias looked him up and down carefully, stepped forward and extended his hand, "Hello Leon, I am Mathias Cronqvist." Leon sheepishly took the hand and shook it, but he did not say anything.

An hour or so later the boys were outside. It was lightly wooded, but mostly green grassy fields, small rolling hills, a thin dirt path leading away from the monastery and into the forest. A couple of dogs roamed around the grounds. The large old monastery sat resolutely behind the boys as they stood next to a large old tree. Leon was right beside it, huddled up against it. Mathias was a few yards away, tossing small rocks at another tree in the distance.

"So that's mostly everything. It's not so bad here, really" Mathias spoke without looking away from the far tree he was mock attacking. He continued tossing the little stones. "They can be a little strict, and mass can be pretty boring, but it really isn't that bad." He ran out of stones and started picking others up from the ground. Finally he looked back at Leon. "How old are you Leon?"

"Six." Leon responded almost immediately, albeit very shy and quietly, almost whispering. It was the first word he'd managed to get out since arriving, and several days before that.

"Do you like games?" Mathias asked, pushing a hunch. Leon shook his head yes, the tiniest hint of a smile cracking the numb look he'd been carrying the entire time.

A few moments later the boys were almost racing back inside, both of them seeming more excited than they'd been in some time. Mathias led Leon into a room he hadn't shown him yet. It was like a small library, several book shelves lining the walls, with a table in the center and a few chairs around it. Mathias told Leon to sit and went to one of the old desks in the corner. He dug around inside of it for a few moments and then pulled out a deck of strange playing cards with Asian symbols that to Leon may have as well been written in ancient Enochian.

"Alright." Mathias was visibly excited, "This is called 'The Leaf Game.' And it actually comes from China." Mathias seemed to revel in the explanation. The confused Leon didn't even know what China was. "It's not really that complicated, these are money cards." He showed Leon some of the cards spread out in his hand. "They have four suits: coins, strings of coins , myriads, and tens of myriads. A myriad is ten thousand." Mathias shuffled through the cards as he explained. "But the real skill of the game isn't about the cards, it's much more about knowing and reading your opponent."

Mathias looked over to Leon, a large grin on his face. The younger boy stared back at him with a look of someone hopelessly lost on his.

Mathias smiled at him, while continuing to shuffle through the deck, "It's really not as complicated as it sounds. It's a great mental challenge."

"I thought you meant a fun game." Leon's voice was soft and high pitched, it cracked a little and carried with it more than a hint of displeasure. "Like a ball game."

Mathias felt a pang of disappointment, but he felt something else as well. A loving, almost jovial sensation, it caused him to laugh happily, something he hadn't done in years. Of course this young boy wouldn't want to play the 'Leaf Game.' He smiled at Leon, "Of course, let's go back outside." For the first time in a long time, Mathias felt himself start to truly care for someone else, like family, like a brother.


	3. Chapter 3: War Games

**Chapter 3: War Games.**

Several more years passed, and Mathias and Leon had become as close as any two brothers had ever been. Since that first meeting the two of them had come to trust each other completely, and while they did care for and confide in others at the Monastery, they were both each others only true family, the person that meant most to them in the world. The difference in their blood meant nothing, and anyone who called them anything less than brothers would likely have to defend the claim with their fists.

Mathias was sitting at a small wooden table with another older man. Mathias himself was just about eighteen years old. They were both in a small office-like room at the south side of the Chateau. Sitting wide open in front of the two men was a large dusty old book. It was a property ledger, an old one. The older man was dressed in somewhat ragged but passable clothes, with a slightly large graying beard and glasses. Mathias was a little more sophisticated looking now, a fine buttoned shirt and coat, long hair still black as the void. He placed his finger on the open page, moved it down, scanning with his eyes, then suddenly stopped, on the line he had been looking for.

"I'm sorry. But the Church ordinance right here is for the same land you are contesting. You'll need to remove any structures their to make way for the new chapel." Mathias said calmly but firmly.

"Horse shit! I'm not taking anything down. That's my family's land, has been for generations!" The man was of a much lower social and financial stance than Mathias had initially been raised into, and he was having none of it, not a shred of respect for the church or the law. Few people would be able to make the transition in associations so easily, even after so many years.

Mathias took on a tone of incredibly sternness, his posture straightened up and the expression of his face hardened, making him look ever more like his late father. "I'm sorry Mr. Mara but the law is the law, and we will come down hard if we must. It's all clear right here. It's incontestable" Mathias pointed to a messy scrawl scratched between the lines on the page. "That's your grandfather's signature."

"I can't read that shit! You're lying!" The man rose up suddenly in his chair, almost leaping, he threw his arms around emphatically and spit while he talked, "You church scum always lie and force good men like me under your boot! You're nothin' but liars and thieves!" The man was more than insulting, he was on the verge of violence.

Mathias stood up as well, placing a hand on the hilt of a long thin dagger at his hip. His demeanor changed dramatically, he exuded authority, power, "You will tear down your structures." He was surprisingly fearsome, very much like his father was. His words rang with force and intimidation. "If you do not, we will hire a force to burn it all to the ground, and give them full warrant to deal with any resistance they may find by any means they deem necessary." Mathias stared the older man down, a stern fire in his eyes, after a few moments of the man shrinking back he added, "That chapel breaks ground this week. Am I clear?"

The man was defeated, afraid even. "Yes. I'm sorry master Cronqvist."

"Now leave." Mathias's glare was powerful, as were his words. The man stood up quickly and stared at Mathias for a moment, but where his eyes once held anger they now held a combination of fear and sorrow, maybe a hint of dread. He made his was out.

Mathias sat alone in the small office, scribbling notes in several different ledgers, counting the coins and other forms of currency he'd collected on the church's behalf. He spent long days handling the more complex dealings of the church's bureaucratic endeavors. He was one of but a handful of people in the region even qualified for such work, being familiar with the mathematics and intricacies of law required by the position. And perhaps more importantly being literate enough to read the hand writing of those less so.

It was tiring work, on his mind and at times his conscience, but he reveled in the challenge of it. The people could be difficult to work with, but Mathias found himself able to be kind and comforting, or frank and strident as the situation called for. It too was a challenge, one of a completely different nature.

"These damn fools..." He looked over the more contentious dealings of the day, farmers losing portions of their land, shopkeepers behind on their debts, business owners fined for less than ethical practices. All outraged and aggressive, all completely unable to accept their own culpability in their situations. Not a drop of self accountability in the whole lot of them. It angered him, but at the same time he felt a pity for them even if he resented the firmness their actions demanded of him.

After finishing up Mathias was walking down the hallway back to his bedroom when he was stopped by one of the friars. "Master Cronqvist" The friar said, "Something's arrived for you, something rather large. The Abbot has it up in his office. I think it's some kind of crate."

"Thank you." Mathias replied politely, but he was confused at the same time. He had no idea who in the world would send him any anything, nor what it could possibly contain. He made his way to the Abbot's office quickly, it was located up on the top floor of the Monastery.

When he entered the room the Abbot was sitting behind his desk, writing something down. An old worn chest sat in the middle of the floor, in front of the desk, between a pair of chairs. It was very dark, appearing almost charred black as if it had survived a fire, and though it was distinctly dry it gave the impression that it has spent a somewhat considerable time submerged in water. It was a terribly unusual combination of qualities that only added to its enigma.

He was terrified. From the moment his eye met that chest the same primal fear that he had felt as a boy running into the forest came rushing back. Something about the look it had of being previously submerged.

For some reason it instantly it evoked the memory of that night, of the wet, murky hallway. The sea water, the algae, the smell, and something else, some unexplainable knowing, a supernatural awareness that this crate was somehow intimately associated with whatever it was that happened at his childhood home that terrible night. Mathias took the trunk quickly, with minimal verbal exchange, and was just as quickly off to his room.

He got to his room and almost slammed the door behind him, latched it carefully. It was the same small room he had been living in for over a decade, but it was now a bit more cramped and crowded. A halfway melted candle sat atop the desk, surrounded by books that spread out onto the small bed and chair as well.

He threw the chest onto his bed and some of the books tumbled off onto the floor in its wake, something that Mathias would normally never allow. He glared at the chest, trembling with fear, but not only fear. He trembled with desire as well. Something inside him desperately wanted to see what the old trunk contained, something else begged him to toss it into the woods. After what felt like hours of hesitation the macabre curiosity won out.

Mathias leaned down over the crate and pulled at the latch, it was unlocked. He pulled at the lid slowly, terribly slowly, suffering just a little more each second, but barely able to move it at all. When it was about halfway open he could start to make out its contents.

Strange books, stranger papers, trinkets ranging from archaically primitive to other-worldly shapes of strange complication. He pulled the lid the rest of the way open and saw more precisely what it was that the crate contained.

It held seven old books, one of which was a personal journal, four ancient scrolls, metallic symbols that evoked a sense of satanism or other devil worship, queer objects of strange non euclidean design, a small statue of a monstrous deity, and an eighth book that was so different from the others that Mathias did not immediately realize it was a book at all. He reached for it firs of all.

It was a horror to behold. It was much larger than the others, at least fifteen inches across. The cover looked like old deteriorated leather, but was subtly different from any hide Mathias had ever handled. It did however recall to his mind a material his father had used. Worst of all the cover of the book had been shaped into a horrible rudimentary face. It was gruesomely carved into it, giving the impression of someone long dead. He placed it back down for the moment. There was much to examine.

Mathias held up the strange shaped objects, staring them up and down in wonder. Some of them were almost indescribable, shapes that defied logic and perceived possibility. The colors and material were just as unbelievable, colors somewhere between and outside of those previously known to him. Some of the objects were as completely transparent as glass but as hard as metal. He looked down at the strange archaic symbols burned and scrawled into odd and unknown alphabets in stacks of paper. And the books...

The books had such strange and terrible titles... _The Book of Eibon_. _Unaussprechlichen Kulten, Zhou Texts, Cultes de Goules_ , _Grimorum Arcanorum_ _,_ _Sepher Ha-Razim,_ and perhaps the worst of all... _The journal of Josevus Cronqvist._ He held that last one up and couldn't move, couldn't breath, he was frozen in time. Josevus Cronqvist was Mathias' father. He almost thought for a moment that he could hear the old man's voice, distantly behind him.

Mathias' mind and heart raced with two terrifying questions. Who had sent this package to him? And worse, who had retrieved the journal? Mathias remembered clearly that his father kept that journal with him at all times, even in his sleep, even during that terrible ritual so many years in the past yet somehow ever present. After some time for his keen mind to process he placed the journal down and grabbed the small statue to investigate further.

It was of an unusual make, a very obscure stone of some kind, dark and shiny. The creature it portrayed was even stranger, a seemingly amphibious being with a large bulbous head and long tentacle like feelers where its mouth should be, somewhat like a squid. It had six triangular eyes, three on each side of the face. On the back there were small, folded, almost vestigial reptilian wings. The body was humanoid and in somewhat human proportion for the most part, but was covered in pointed scales. The hands and feet were over-sized and clawed. It had a girth to it reminiscent of an ancient fertility statue. After a moment he placed this down as well. Reaching again for that abominably strange book so much larger and so different from the others.

Mathias stared into the face on its cover. It was horrible, like some decayed primitive demon. He could almost hear a primordial groaning ringing out from it, vibrating through his skull not unlike the sounds of that night. He opened the terrible cover, it felt dry and leathery. On the first page he saw the apparent name of the book. He had already figured out that all of these items would have to remain hidden. But this book... it could get him excommunicated, executed even. On the first page, in bold black scratchy letters that seemed to have been scrawled out much later then the book's initial creation, _**Necronomicon**_ _ **.**_

Mathias turned the pages of the forbidden book written long ago by the mad Arab Abdul Alhazred. Some of the writing was in languages unknown to him, seemingly inhuman, not even of any known alphabet. Strange, horrible sketches littered the book, scenes of graphic almost pornographic violence, creatures so terrible they defied imagination. Despite these terrors Mathias' eyes were alight, again reignited with an emotion he had not experienced since that terrible night. The feeling of wonder, curiosity, and terror at the strange magic conducted by his father.

Suddenly there was a knocking at the door. Mathias turned his head, but remained silent, holding the book still in his hands. He did not move. The knocking came again, this time with words, "Mathias, let's go, I need you on my team." It was Leon, now twelve.

"Just a moment Leon." Mathias closed the book, placed everything back in the trunk, and hid the new found treasures under his bed, locking it up with a strange key that he had found inside.

Mathias opened the door to a rather impatient Leon. "We've got to go now." Leon was trying to get Mathias to accompany him to a game of Harpas, a more primitive form of soccer.

"Leon, I'm not really feeling up to it right now." Mathias was eager too get back to his newly discovered work, Leon seemed a little disappointed.

"How about a game of Hnefatafl (pronounced "nef-ah-tah-fel") then?" Leon asked.

Mathias was somewhat stunned, knocked off his guard, Leon was never interested in playing Hnefatafl. It was an old viking chess-like game, but more strategic and similar to actual battle. "I'll let you be white"

Mathias was stuck, he knew turning down this request would draw quite a bit of suspicion from Leon. "That sounds much better."

The two were soon seated in that same library they had sat in so many years ago. Where Mathias still frequently bored the younger Leon with his games of the mind. A small chess-like set sat on the table between them. The game was virtually identical to modern chess, but the setting of the pieces was a little different, as were their names.

Mathias and Leon had become very close over the last few years in ways beyond the standard bonds of brotherhood. They grew together, their talents forming in ways that complimented each other, Mathias' genius, Leon's athleticism. Mathias loved games of strategy and mental challenge like Hnefatafl, where as Leon was far more interested in more physical games like Harpas. If Leon was offering to play Hnefatafl it meant he really wanted to spend some time with Mathias.

Unfortunately for Leon It was not long into the game before he regretted making the initial proposal. Not only was it something of a bore to him, but he had yet to ever actually win a match against Mathias. He leaned back in his chair as Mathias stared at the board. "I really don't see how you can enjoy this." Leon shook his head as he spoke..

Mathias didn't look up, "Hnefatafl is war Leon. Surely a young boy such as yourself finds war interesting." Mathias moved a piece, "You are losing."

Leon laughed a little, smiled and looked over the board himself. He thought for a moment. "Hnefatafl is just a lot of sitting and thinking. Harpas is war." He moved one of his pieces. "You're not at war if you're not even breaking a sweat."

"I'll give you that Harpas can be like war as well." Mathias grabbed one of his pieces, "But there are many perspectives of war. In Harpas you are a mere soldier." Mathias placed the piece down, taking one of Leon's pieces "In Hnefatafl you are the general, the true architect of the battle." He dropped the piece nonchalantly onto his side of the table, where it bounced and teetered over. "And in a real match among even leveled players, you are likely so see lots of sweat." His eyes never left the board as he spoke.

Leon quickly moved to retaliate, seemingly catching Mathias off guard. "So are you saying in Harpas I'm just the pawn?"

Mathias smiled at Leon, "You are all of the pieces Leon." Mathias moved a piece to where Leon's had previously been. "It's just that I am the player." Mathias moved his king into the corner 'castle', "I win. I'm sorry Leon but I have to go." Mathias, still smiling stood up and started back to his room.

"Wait!" Leon called out as Mathias headed off. Mathias turned back to him and Leon put down his pieces, stood up. "Why don't we play another round?"

Mathias tilted his head and gave an inquisitive look, "Leon... you never want to play Hnefatafl, or any of the strategic games that I want to play." He folded his arms.

Leon looked at his brother worriedly, he sighed, "Mathias, it just..." he paused, "I know your work for the church stresses you. You feel bad about it."

"I perform a necessary duty in order for society to function." Mathias quipped back defensively.

"I know." Leon replied quick and reassuringly, he knew better than any how Mathias could get. "I know Mathias. And I agree. What you do is needed and just. But I also know that regardless you feel some degree of guilt for the suffering that sometimes befalls them. Even though it is their own faults." Mathias just stared at Leon, not quite angrily, but something akin to it.

Leon continued, "It's not doubt in your work. It's merely that you have a conscience, and compassion." Leon smiled, "Even if you try to hide it most of the time." He laughed lightly.

Mathias chuckled a bit himself, the tension was mostly relieved, but Mathias still felt the pull of the chest up in his room. "Thank you Leon. I really do appreciate your concern." Just as when they first met Mathias could still come off so cold and detached even when he did not mean to, but now, at least with Leon, he could catch himself. He exhaled and looked his brother in the eyes "I'm ok Leon. Yes I feel for them. But I get past it. I really must be going."

Again he turned away and was off, and again Leon called out to him, "Mathias..." he stopped after saying his name.

Mathias stopped and sighed heavily to himself before turning around, he was starting to feel rather annoyed, he was quite eager to return to what was hidden under his bed, "What more is there Leon?"

"I know that you've started your martial training. Really started." Again Leon just dropped a spoon full of his meaning and then paused.

Mathias's tone had returned to the defensiveness of before, "What of it? We all know that that is one of the services we may provide to the Monastery. A noble, necessary service."

"I agree Mathias. But..." Before Leon could continue Mathias cut him off.

"I see." Mathias was amazing at deciphering someone's real meaning behind their words, and this time his tone was purposefully cold and detached, "You are worried about the effects on my conscience when instead of costing wayward people their land or money, I will be taking from them their very lives."

Leon knew Mathias better than anyone else still alive. He knew how angry and arrogant he could be, even cruel possibly, but he also knew that he did care for others, even those who had made mistakes, fallen from the righteous path, "Aren't you?"

The response disarmed Mathias completely, as Leon frequently did. He was visibly stunned, at a loss for words.

Leon continued before it got awkward, "It's ok to feel that Mathias. I honestly believe that it is a worthwhile profession, a noble one just as you said. I strongly consider joining it myself some day. Just..." Leon paused again, seemingly trying to think of how best to word his thoughts.

"Just what Leon?" Mathias was no longer strident, but still impatient.

"Just be careful going into dark places. Your conscience protects you there. It's not a weakness." He stared at Mathias, a much more serious look on his face now.

Mathias returned the serious look with one of his own. "Thank you Leon, it's good to have you around. I will think much on your words. You are wise beyond your years." He smiled lightly, "I really need to go now. I have important work to finish."

"Ok." Leon conceded, "I'll come by early tomorrow and we can have breakfast together before studies."

"Alright. Good night Leon." Mathias gave a small bow and headed off.

Leon just sat there, he stared back down at the Hnefatafl pieces like he was still trying to think of a move.


	4. Chapter 4: Crossroads

**Chapter 4: Crossroads.**

After a few months Mathias was already reading many of the languages that not long before were completely alien to him. Most of them could be learned from the Monastery's library, and the more eccentric, seemingly unknown, languages had translations and ciphers within the books and papers in the old trunk.

He had become rather reclusive of late, putting off his other studies, responsibilities, even his personal hygiene. His clothes were unkempt and dirty, his skin and hair a greasy matted mess. He had even put in a request for a hold on all of his legal and financial dealings for the Monastery, sighting mental weariness. It was very unlike Mathias to put off anything he considered his duty, even if gravely ill. All of this seemed rather unusual to Leon and the Monks, but they all felt Mathias was long overdue a rest, so no one bothered him too much about his absence.

He was sitting at his desk, spread out upon which sat his father's journal, _Sepher Ha-Razim,_ and an old Hebrew dictionary from the Monastery library. They were all three open and marked with notes. Sitting above them were some of the strange metallic symbols.

Mathias turned pages across all three books, scanning and skimming through each of them, devouring as much of the knowledge within them as he could, as quickly as he could. He had spent his whole life on an almost biological quest for knowledge. The drive to know things, to know more than everyone else, to understand the world and the things within it, and more still, had always sat firmly in the back of his head. He had never been satisfied, not completely. He would seek out ever more information into a never ending, never filling, hole within himself. But this time was different. This was the knowledge that Mathias had been instinctively craving.

After almost an hour more of intense study Mathias closed the _Sepher Ha-Razim_ and the Hebrew book, and placed them to the side. He then turned to the trunk itself, which sat beside him on the floor. Again the strange rumbling sensation filled the room. It was the only aspect of the research that bothered him, frightened him. Any time he was dealing with that book, even just thinking out about, the sub-vocal groan came. He reached into the trunk, and slowly pulled out the Necronomicon and a stack of the translation papers associated with it.

He held the book up, as he had when first seeing it. The strange groaning vibrated stronger in the back of his skull, even now he feared this book. While several of the books contained strange and terrible things, this one felt truly evil in and of itself, evil or something worse. He swore that from time to time the horrid face would move and twitch subtly, change its expression, or react. He placed it down on the desk and opened it.

He turned back to the notes in his father's journal, running his finger under the words as he read them to himself, then back over to the Necronomicon. He turned to a page that showed the image of a crudely scrawled demon, a classic Abrahamic horned gargoyle-like creature. It was shown struggling against some strange energy engulfing it from a bizarre crystal.

Mathias reached into his trunk and pulled out what appeared to be that very same crystal, one of the non-euclidean geometrical objects. It was almost completely transparent, the only exception being an extremely subtle and dim red light coming from an infinitesimally small point somewhere near the center. Mathias held the crystal close to his eyes, staring up into it, trying to see the source.

Mathias was utterly enthralled with all the new dark knowledge he had been unlocking, so enthralled that his previously desperate questions about the origin of the trunk and its contents had completely disappeared. As he came to understand the power the trunk held he realized that almost anything could potentially fall within his grasp. But the memory, the terrible memory of that final night within his family home, the final night among his parents, it haunted him still.

He had already read the journal cover to cover, but strangely there was no mention of anything that resembled the ritual that took place that night, nothing to shed light on what it was his father was trying to accomplish. He knew that the answers were there somewhere, part of the combined knowledge held within, but the rest of the books had yet to offer up anything he could understand, just vague similarities and clues. A part of him wondered whether this dark knowledge was worth the potential price, but it was drowned out by other desires.

One night, when Mathias made the now incredibly rare foray out of his chamber, away from his studies, he was surprised to find that the Monastery was actually hosting some rather distinguished visitors. A local lord named Reginald Deaubelle had come to the Chateau to celebrate his very generous bequeathment to the church. He had with him a pair of aides, a pair of body guards, and his beautiful young daughter Elisabetha.

As Mathias entered the main hall he was taken aback by Elisabetha's beauty, staring silent and awkwardly, almost unaware of any of the others present. One of the monks eventually noticed him and broke the tension with an introduction.

"Good evening Mathias. It's nice to see you about the building again." He motioned towards the guests, "This is master Reginald Deaubelle and his daughter Elisabetha. They've come to make a very generous donation to our charitable efforts." Mathias felt a bit embarrassed at the state of his appearance, he was far from looking his best, tired, dirty, malnourished, clothes wrinkled after several days use. Despite the situation he tried his best to be polite, even in his slightly shaken state.

"Good evening. I am Mathias Cronqvist." He extended his hand to shake Reginald's, but Reginald hesitated, staring at Mathias, jarred by his appearance. After just a moment Reginald took his hand and the two men shook.

"The Cronqvist family, it used to be held in quite high regard, but I've heard nothing of them in years." Reginald seemed intrigued.

Before Mathias could say anything the Monk cut in. "Unfortunately his parents were lost in a terrible accident long ago, Mathias has been living here with us for the last ten years."

Elisabetha, who had been listening quietly, was visibly affected by the news. A sorrow or a worrying, maybe a sense of pity flashed across her face for just a moment. Her father responded. "I'm terribly sorry to hear that." He turned back to Mathias. "You come from good stalk son. And living here I'm sure you've had a top notch education, I'm sure you will do fine. I might even be able to find a position in my business for a young man of such a prestigious lineage."

"Thank you sir. That means a lot." Mathias sounded genuinely grateful. "But I've actually already started my martial apprenticeship. I'm studying to be an officer, as well as other academic pursuits."

"Haha!" Reginald laughed out jovially, "The Cronqvist reputation holds true I see. Fiercely independent, capable, and always enraptured in your academic pursuits." He patted Mathias on the shoulder happily. "Excuse me please, we must speak more later, but presently I must speak with the Abbot." Reginald made his way out of the room with the monk towards the Abbot's office.

Elisabetha stayed in the hall with Mathias. She was the essence of elegance and beauty, pale milky soft white skin, long wavy beautiful blonde hair, light brown eyes, a conservative but beautiful white and yellow dress. She smiled at Mathias, but the two remained awkwardly silent for a moment too long. Mathias's mind was still racing with the ancient knowledge from his books, still catching up to the current social situation.

"I am very sorry to hear about your family. That must have been very difficult." Elisabetha broke the silence, and her soothing voice pulled Mathias out of his trance-like haze.

He turned to her and stared for a moment before responding, "Yes... Yes it was very difficult to adjust... But the monks here have never been anything less than wonderful." Mathias felt a tug at the back of his throat, it had been a long time since he had thought about his parents with anything resembling tenderness, but there had been loving moments, even with his father.

"I lost my mother two years ago. Her absence still haunts me." The sadness dripped from her words, and pushed Mathias further into his own long buried emotions.

"We live in trying times." Mathias looked away for a moment. "But trying times make for stronger people."

Elisabetha smiled, "You are a very strong man. I can see that in you already."

"I hope so." Mathias's thoughts moved back into a world of darkness, a world of which he currently stood on the precipice. He stared directly down into it, ready to jump in head first, but suddenly, strangely his mind snapped back, back to this beautiful woman standing in front of him. She swept away the darkness, and anchored him back to the world he had started to lose stake in, to lose hold of. The world he had lived in all his life.

He was at a loss. The simple act of dialogue with this woman had managed to shake him out of his obsessive pursuit. It was the first time anything else had truly grabbed hold of his concentration in months. He was not sure what to say, but knew that he must say something, "Do you and your father live close to the Monastery?"

"We do. We live in a manor on the outskirts of Vinceton, the town about a mile to the south." She didn't seem to notice the bewilderment swirling in Mathias's mind. And she didn't mind the change of subject.

"I haven't spent much time in Vinceton, I guess I'm a bit of a recluse." Mathias truly felt more connected to the world of man than he had since receiving the chest.

"That is sad for Vinceton." Elisabetha smiled, such a lovely, welcoming smile. "It's a very nice place."

"I would like to spend more time there. And more time with you, if you wouldn't mind." Mathias was rather charming in his delivery, if not with the words themselves.

Elisabetha grinned brightly, not at all able to mask her delight. "That would be very nice, we'll have to arrange it soon."

Mathias smiled, exhaling long and slow. He felt as if an enormous weight were leaving his shoulders. The two young adults smiled at each other, and opened up too one another like neither of them had done in years. United in their shared griefs, and entwined in their shared chemistry.

Later that night, after Elisabetha and her father had gone, Mathias was standing at the entryway of his room, staring down at the open books still sat upon his desk, the strange objects. While they had always held a macabre and forbidden quality, Mathias was just now for the first time troubled by them. Not just the Necronomicon itself, but the whole lot of it. An uncomfortable feeling of shame and regret came over him. He started to feel physically ill.

After some moments of consciously avoiding it, he looked to the open Necronomicon, as he did the groaning came in the back of his skull once again, louder now than ever before. He could almost make out words in it, something being repeated over and over. He felt himself at a cross roads, two very different, mutually exclusive paths laid out before him.

The groaning grew even louder, to the point that he could actually start to hear rather than just feel it. He recoiled in horror and disgust. The sounds shifted into a more distinguishable guttural repetition of long dead words, a language he didn't understand, but could feel. Somehow he knew that it was the book calling to him.

Suddenly it broke into Mathias's own native language, blurting out one word and dropping silent, "Continue." Mathias recoiled away from the door and fled. He ran out into the hallway, no destination in mind, just knowing that he had to flee. The fear that had welled up inside of him had reached a fever pitch was every bit as profound as that terrible night he was a boy. He felt as if those same forces were close to snatching him up once again.

When he finally stopped running, Mathias was standing in front of Leon's door, a panic laced mania increasingly overtaking him. He was unaware of what had pulled him to that spot, but he had no idea where else to go. He opened the door slowly, quietly, and crept inside until he was standing at the foot of the bed, watching as Leon lay sleeping peacefully. He still wondered why he had been drawn that way. Something in him fled for safety, for security, and protection. Perhaps it was the brotherly love he felt for Leon, somehow it shielded him from the terrible feelings that pursued him through every other section of the Monastery.

After a few moments Leon woke, and almost jumped out of the bed as he saw Mathias standing there, "Jesus! Mathias, what the hell are you doing?" Leon was more than a little agitated. He was breathing heavily from the shock, but as he looked up at his brother he saw the terror, the confusion. "Is everything ok?"

Mathias did not answer immediately, but Leon gave him the time needed to gather himself, "Leon... I have been absent lately." Mathias struggled with the words.

"What's going on Mathias?" Leon looked very genuinely concerned.

"It's just that... some things from my past, painful things, have resurfaced as of late. I'm very sorry for my distracted state these last few months." Mathias's words frightened Leon a little. It showed plainly on his face.

"Don't worry." Leon's impulse was to calm and reassure his brother, "It's nothing, you've been there for me more than anyone else in my life." Leon spoke with sincerity.

"Leon... I need to ask you a difficult question." For some reason, in that moment, Mathias needed to know something. He was almost afraid to ask.

"Anything Mathias." Leon was a supportive brother.

"What happened to your parents?" The question was a shock, Leon recoiled a bit as the memories unexpectedly flooded into his mind. Due either to respect, fear, or a combination of both they had never spoken to each other about what had happened to either of their families. He paused before answering.

"The monks told you. They were lost to disease." Leon said almost defensively.

Mathias stared at him, "And they said mine were lost in a terrible accident. But while that is technically true there was much more to it than that." Mathias' stare became increasingly inquisitive. "They said you had a similar situation to my own. There was something... unnatural in what happened to my parents."

Leon sighed, surrendered, "Yes. It's true..." Leon sat up straight. He paused for a moment as he recalled the terrible details, then for a moment more to think of the right words. "They were sick, that much was certainly true." It was clearly hard for him to talk about.

Mathias felt guilty for putting his break down onto Leon, for making him recall such painful things, "I'm sorry Leon... forget about it..."

"No. No it's alright Mathias." He wasn't sure what was going on, but he knew confiding in his brother would help him. "There was surely something more than natural about it. More than mere disease.", he continued, "It ravished them in such horrible ways." He strained as the words came out, "It was like their bodies died long before their souls left."

Mathias remained silent, only looking at Leon as he spoke, the expressions on his face, the pain that he felt in the telling.

Small tears were starting to well up in Leon's eyes. Like Mathias it had been years since he truly went back to that place in mind, to his final days and moments with his parents, "But they never stopped loving me, caring for me. For as long as they could." He turned to Mathias, tears rolling down his cheeks, "In their final act of protection they managed to get me just a few miles down the road. Even in their haggard corpse-like state. Their final words were to tell me to continue straight, down the road, until I came upon the Chateau. They saved my life." Leon wiped the tears from his face, "And very shortly after that I met you."

Mathias turned away from Leon and stared off into space deep in thought, the deepest thought of his life. "Thank you for sharing that with me Leon." He turned to him and placed a comforting hand on the younger boy's shoulder, "You've helped me more than you know. Now go back to sleep. I must return to my work." Leon was confused, but equally exhausted, so he laid his head down and followed the instructions.

Mathias was up and out of the room quickly, making his way back to his own quarters, where the Necronomicon still sat closed on the desk. The horrid face glared at him, stared him down threateningly. It's expression had changed again, and now it belayed anger and malice, it was not ready to give him up yet. The groaning came again, louder now than any of the previous times.

Mathias stared at it defiantly, angrily, frozen in the door way. "I'm done."

The voice returned, the ancient inhuman language, the unexplainable understanding, and then the single word, "Continue."

"No." Mathias powered into the room and reached for the book, but something within paralyzed him, held him with his arms reaching out. Some powerful inner force held him back. His face strained, his muscles tensed, and his iron will managed to break through. He swept up the dreadful book and tossed it back into the chest, burying it under an avalanche of the other books, papers, the strange objects, everything that had come to him inside that damnable chest.

He tossed it all down into the infernal old crate unceremoniously and latched it tightly, threw it into the back of his closet, and covered it with clothes and whatever other random personal effects he had at hand. He held the key out in front of him, pulling it in just a few inches from his face. It was a very unusual key, strangely cubic with unknown markings carved all over.

Mathias threw open his window, a surprisingly strong wind came barreling into the room, almost knocking him off of his balance. Papers flew around chaotically, the things that remained on the desk were knocked off. The wind howled angrily into the night and Mathias was starting to get a real grasp on just how serious and powerful the forces he had been meddling with were. He knew that they still fought for him.

"No more!" He screamed out the window and into the night, unconcerned with who in the monastery might hear him. He winded his arm back ready to hurl the key out into the wilderness. He stepped moving forward to throw it but stopped, took a deep breath and pulled back again. He paused, sweating, breathing heavily, he looked at the key, prepared to throw it for a third time, but again stopped himself. He held the key back in front of his face, staring it down for several minutes. "Not yet." He thought, convincing himself that it was completely his own thought.

After losing the battle of will he opened a drawer at his desk and buried the key in the back of it, under many other papers and items. Even though he could not bring himself to be rid of the key, and what it represented, In Mathias's mind, his studies into the occult were over.


	5. Chapter 5: The Dragon

**Chapter 5: The Dragon.**

Mathias, now twenty four, and Leon, now eighteen, sat crouched with several other men all clad in armor and carrying long broad swords. The lot of them were huddled just behind the bushes in a patch of wilderness on the side of an old dirt path. The men were clearly antsy, nervous, stirring and chattering among themselves impatiently. Several of them repeatedly looked up towards Leon, who was positioned closer up by the road, with questioning glances.

Leon shot his gaze over to Mathias, who was looking up and out towards the dirt path. His gaze was fixed in the other direction, but he still replied He lifted one hand and held his index finger to his mouth, he lowered his other hand, palm facing down towards the ground, signaling silence and patience.

Mathias had proven quite prodigious in first his studies and later his work in battle and warfare. He had become known as the best tactician the area had seen in decades or more. Leon, now a fearsome warrior, as ever stood as his right hand man. He was every bit as fierce and cunning on the field of battle as Mathias was behind it. Their combination of brain and brawn made them a devastating force to be reckoned with. They were currently under the employ Elisabetha's father, Lord Deaubelle, as well as the church.

Mathias's ears perked up as they heard the distant sound of horses trotting down the path. He rose up a bit, but was still crouched. He kept his hand out, keeping the men waiting. After several minutes the horses, and the company of knights upon them were coming into view just up the path. Mathias scanned the group, saw a slightly more armored man riding on one of the largest horses. He shot a quick glance at Leon, who had been sitting in wait for just such a look. Mathias pointed back to the high ranking soldier on the horse and then to Leon, who nodded. Mathias looked back at his other men, signaled his hand flat and low to the ground. Leon glanced over to them as well. They all nodded in response, signifying that they knew what to do.

As the other company was passing by on the road, right when they were about halfway across, Mathias whistled and his knights leaped out from the foliage. It was a whirlwind of slashing blades, all aiming down, low to the ground, taking out the legs of the horses. In mere seconds all but two or three of them had fallen to the ground, neighing and whinnying in horror and pain. More importantly they fell before their riders were able to react to the ambush, sending them rolling across the ground as well, laying them out wide for the slaughter. A dozen blades or more all came dropping down, piercing armor and flesh and pushing through into the dirt. The other knights of the opposing company drew their weapons, but another group of Mathias's knights rose up from the other side of the path and the attacked group was quickly overwhelmed. Another platoon of their own reinforcements were charging up from further behind, but they still had half a minute or more between them.

Leon stomped through the chaos at an incredible pace, moving his body lithely back and forth both to avoid enemy and friendly blows as well as to position himself on the right trajectory for his target. When he was just a few yards away he jumped into the air and tackled the leader of the group off of his horse. The two of them slammed into the ground and rolled across the road almost into the woods. Leon drew his blade, two surviving enemy knights rushed to the aid of the large commander. The first slashed down diagonally, Leon effortlessly parried the attack, lifting his sword and using the man's own momentum to send him stumbling to the ground to Leon's left. Leon continued the spinning motion of his block without a moment's hesitation, coming around and stabbing his sword into the fallen knight's back in a single motion.

Leon quickly pulled his sword from the knight's back, and he slumped onto the ground, dead. Leon spun back around, smashing his blade down into the other charging enemy, who held up his own sword in defense, but the force behind Leon's sent him stumbling backwards to the ground. Leon quickly stabbed his sword down into his chest, and pulled it back out almost instantly. He turned back around in a quick aggressive motion.

The commander now stood ready, sword drawn, waiting for Leon. If nothing else his men had bought him time to prepare himself. Leon moved toward him in long leaping steps, almost striding. He felt no fear whatsoever, and cried out like a beast trying to intimidate its prey. He charged forward and while coming down from a stride he swung his sword downward at the commander with all the force of his own strength coupled with the momentum of the falling stride. Seeing Leon in battle was a sight to behold, it came as naturally to him as anything, like it was what he had been born to do.

The hit landed with such force that the commander, though able to defend, was knocked backwards onto one knee. Leon struck over and over again in a rabid fury. The commander struggled to defend, hobbling back on his knee, just barely deflecting every incoming blow. After a moment, when he finally got the opportunity to get back up on both feet, he took a swing of his own blade, but Leon darted back out of the way, then quickly returned with a powerful slash himself. It hit, cutting deep into the commander's right arm.

The wounded man cried out in pain, and Leon lunged forward and grabbed him by the small opening in his armor between neck and chest. He hurled the man to the ground, kicked him in the stomach with force, and then again in the head. By now the rest of the force had been neutralized, and the reinforcements had been chased off. Leon held a blade to the commander's throat, keeping him where he lied, motionless.

Leon looked over to Mathias, who motioned for them all to make a hasty return to base. The two of them took up the front position, with the rest of the troops following behind, dragging the commander and two more prisoners with them.

An hour later Mathias and his knights were in a large dark room inside of a semi-ruined stone tower. A single torch sat lit and hung up on the wall. The prisoners sat on the floor, on their knees, hands and feet bound behind their backs. They were all three brutalized to varying degrees. Mathias walked back and forth as Leon repeatedly pummeled the commander in the face with his fists. Three other of Mathias's soldiers stood in the room behind him, swords drawn.

Mathias signaled for Leon to stop his work, then spoke, "Why does Lord Barten think he has the right to take for himself whatever parcels of land he pleases, regardless as to whether they already belong to the church, lord Deaubelle, or anyone else for that matter?" His voice was angry, verging on furious, "Does he believe that the laws of the land, of God, do not apply to him?"

The commander fell back onto the ground, coughing and gurgling, spitting up blood and teeth. "Go to hell."

Mathias pursed his lips, holding back his anger. He closed his eyes and nodded to Leon, who proceeded to kick the commander in the chest, knocking the wind out of him. Mathias stepped closer to the beaten man, leaned down, and continued to speak, "Are you familiar with Baron Leon Belmont? Surely you've heard of him. Every soldier in the region has heard of him by now. He's the one beating the hell out of you." Mathias chuckled, "And of course you know me..." Mathias pulled a thin, curved short blade from his belt, "Mathias Cronqvist, the Dragon. It is whispered that I drink the blood of my enemies is it not? That I dip my bread into it while dining on the battlefield among my fallen adversaries?" He got closer to the man and looked him in the eyes, "Do you think it's true?"

The commander glared up at him, trying to hide the fear in his eyes with anger, and failing. "I don't know anything. He just pays me." The man feared Mathias, and Mathias could tell, and the man's answer enraged him.

"To kill innocents, Vinceton villagers, women and children. Is your soul so cheap that a warlord can afford to buy it and do with it what he pleases?" Mathias already despised the man before him, but to hide such sins behind money drove his rage ever farther.

"We weren't all born in silver cribs." The man insulted Mathias' lineage, striking a chord he truly ought not to have.

Mathias leaped upon the bloodied man, pressing his short blade against his throat. "You know nothing of my life heathen. You are a monster, but a little, pathetic one. I have seen much much worse." The knife pressed harder, blood started to drip from it as it cut into the skin, the man winced in pain.

It was a very familiar scene to Mathias now. Very similar ones had played out several times over the last few years. Intimidation, interrogation, violence, even torture. It was the nature of the work, but he always served a just cause, using his mind and his skills for the greater good of society. Regardless it did trouble him at times. The more intense episodes, like the one that played out before him, could sometimes pull him into a darkness he did not like, but this time it was to be the worst yet.

To Mathias's horror, as he threatened the life of this man, this man whose men had already mostly been slaughtered, the terrible groaning that had once called to him from whatever primordial inferno the Necronomicon reached out from sounded in the back of his skull once again. It was the first time anything like it had happened since he'd last seen the book before locking it away years ago. He froze, unable to move or speak for several moments. After a bit Leon walked up to him and tugged at Mathias's arm, effectively snapping him out of his trance.

Mathias pulled back violently, half shoving Leon away. He glared at Leon, failing to hide the sudden shift in his demeanor, he was bordering on delirious. Leon nodded towards the other soldiers in the room. Mathias came to his senses a bit and nodded in the affirmative. The two of them walked away from the prisoners, over to the other three soldiers.

Out of earshot of the prisoners Leon spoke, more covering for whatever had happened to Mathias than looking for real direction, "I think they are sufficiently frightened. It seems like they are almost ready to tell us anything we want."

Mathias had already regained a good amount of his composure. The groaning had ceased as soon as Leon had grabbed him. He stroked his chin and pondered, looked over to the prisoners on the ground, then back to Leon. He studied his brother's expression, his body language. He knew that Leon understood the work, it's necessity, and that he excelled at it. But he also knew that Leon was more troubled by it than he was, at least these parts of it.

Mathias looked over his other three men, and then back to Leon again, "I think you should go and prepare the others for the return home. Make sure we haven't been followed. We don't need a retaliation strike on us before the men have had a proper rest. We will finish up here."

Leon wanted to protest, but didn't dare in the moment. He never questioned Mathias in the field. He would talk to him later, but for now he followed orders and left the room.

Mathias and his men turned back to the prisoners. One of the soldiers walked with him over to the them. Mathias grabbed the commander by the head and pulled him back up onto his knees, "You are to return to Lord Barten and tell him to pull back his forces before a real counter attack is enacted. Tell him about the embarrassing defeat you suffered today, and that the Dragon will be coming for him next if he does not cease all hostile activity and vacate the parcels of land he has stolen."

"Fuck you." The commander replied, spitting bloody mucus into Mathias's face.

"I wasn't talking to you." Mathias did not react at all to the bloody mess on his face. He merely nodded to his soldier and walked slowly away. The solder lifted his sword, then swung it powerfully around into the commanders neck, decapitating him. The head flew a yard or two through the air before slamming into the ground and rolling across it, a trail of blood smearing behind it. The commander's eyes looked on in terror before going blank. The same act was immediately repeated to one of the other prisoners.

The final prisoner was stood up, his binds cut. Mathias walked up to him, stared him directly in the eyes, "Are my orders clear?"

He looked down at his two now headless compatriots, at the pools of blood oozing from the gaping holes between their shoulders. He looked back up at Mathias ,"Y... yes sir..." The young man was trembling violently. He was then marched outside and set free as the company left for home. He would serve as Mathias's messenger to Lord Barten, and whatever remained of his forces.

A few hours later they had completed the return trip home to the Chateau, where Lord Deaubelle, the Abbot, and Elisabetha waited. Mathias and Leon entered the building triumphantly through the large double doors of the entry way, several of the other soldiers marching behind them. Mathias was hiding well how shaken he had been by the strange events during the interrogation, just as Leon gave no indication of having noticed Mathias's lapse in composure.

The pair entered the Abbot's office, Lord Deaubelle looked up at them and motioned for Elisabetha, who was standing off to the side, to exit the room. As she did she smiled at Mathias, placed a caring hand on his arm, and a small kiss on his cheek. The Abbot smiled, "Still undefeated I see." He could tell by the pride they both carried, "The pair of you are unstoppable."

"Yes, I'm sure you've done very well, as always." Lord Deaubelle spoke quick and anxiously. "Is there any specific details in your report that you would like to share with us now?" This dispute had been going on now for almost a year, it had already cost him greatly.

"No, nothing new. The same dribble about money." Mathias took on a particularly stern tone. "But I think we've finally sent a strong enough message. The forces Lord Barten has hired must be significantly decreased, and we're ready to attack if we must. The number of companies in his employ has dropped significantly since we've started ambushing them."

"Excellent." Lord Deaubelle was very pleased, if still impatient.

The Abbot seemed more concerned, but not necessarily about the outcome and time frame of the campaign, "I know your work is difficult Mathias, frequently violent, but I hope things did not get too out of hand."

"It is the nature of the business." Mathias seemed almost resentful of the monks apparent pity. He turned to Lord Deaubelle, "Do you have our payment ready? The boys have truly earned a swift reward."

"Of course." Lord Deaubelle reached down for a sack of precious coins and handed it to Mathias. "How shall we proceed from here?"

Mathias took the sack and looked down into it. "Well, we'll need to wait a little bit to see how Barten responds. If he continues to expand his stolen territory we'll attack him at his manor, at this point his defenses should be severely thinned. If after a week he hasn't given up his stolen lands we'll go after them individually. We've reached the top of the hill, the worst is behind us."

"Ha! wonderful! You are quite a man Lord Cronqvist. I knew you would be the moment that I met you." Lord Deaubelle was pleased, and relieved. He did not mean to be so anxious and demanding, but this local war had not only drained a great portion of his acquired wealth, it also forced him to halt almost all of his current business dealings. He would not be able to replenish his funds until the conflict was resolved.

Mathias nodded, and let out a slightly sheepish agreement, "Thank you sir." He turned to the Abbott, "Leon and I will go and celebrate our victory with the men, if there is nothing else Father."

The Abbott smiled and nodded, "Go enjoy yourself boys. You have more than earned it."

The two of them were quickly out the door. They made their way down the stairs, and the main hall came into view. The scene was surprisingly festive for a monastery. Several of Mathias's loyal soldiers were drinking, gorging themselves on spiced meats, and gallivanting with local women. Leon looked over to one of the corners of the room, where his beloved Sarah stood in wait of him. He turned to Mathias, patted his shoulder robustly and the two nodded at one another. Leon made his way quickly over to Sarah.

Mathias passed through the hall greeted and waived to his men, but instead of joining the festivities he continued down into the hallway and headed for his quarters. He reached his door and opened it to see Elisabetha, sitting on his bed, just as expected. She was holding Mathias's copy of _The Art of War._

Mathias was exhausted, he was disheartened, doubting his path, his work, more than that he was afraid, feeling as if he were losing his very soul in service to those who claimed to be saving it. But just seeing Elisabetha sitting there, reading his book, waiting for him, thinking about him... as always It transformed him into the most peaceful, satisfied man he had even known himself to be. He just stood there in the doorway, watching her for a moment, recharging.

After a short time Elisabetha looked up from the book and saw Mathias standing there. She didn't say anything at first, just smiled at him, and he smiled back. She spoke first, "This book is so violent." She looked back into it, turned the pages.

Mathias walked over to the bed and sat down next to her, "Well, what do you expect from a book about war?"

"You look tired." She stood up, put the book down on the desk, and turned back to Mathias. "You should rest." She rubbed the palms of her hands against his cheeks, he closed his eyes, feeling as relaxed as he ever allowed himself to be, "Do you need anything?" She ran her fingers through his hair. He was her only concern. It made him feel guilty.

"No. I'm fine." He wasn't fine, not really. He was suffering internally, painfully aware that that accursed book sat mere feet away from the two of them. But there was no groaning now, no bad feelings at all, Elisabetha's presence washed them away. He could not ask her to do any more.

She took a glass of water she had had waiting on the desk and brought it to his mouth, "Drink some at least, and rest." She spent the remainder of her time their forcing Mathias to consent to ever increasing levels of care. She made him eat, drink more water, properly dressed his wounds, and eventually soothed him off to sleep. She and Leon were the anchors that held Mathias down onto the world. Every moment he spent with her made him feel more at ease, more like he belonged, less like he had since that horrible night. By the time he awoke several hours later she had already gone.

Mathias opened his eyes slowly, drowsily. He felt strangely exhausted, but unable to fall back to sleep. His mind was askew, somehow incorrectly calibrated, he could feel it much more this time. As he struggled for clarity, pulling himself up in bed, he realized that the feeling was terribly familiar. It was essentially exactly what he had experienced that night so long ago, after having fallen asleep outside of the room where the ritual had taken place.

Mathias quickly moved to get up out of his bed, but when his feet hit the floor it was cold and damp. Suddenly the horrid smell returned as well, the smell of a dead tide. Then it came, he somehow realized it would just before it started, the groaning. It emanated from the closet. It was without question the same groaning from the Necronomicon, but this time it seemed to be saying something different.

Mathias stood up onto the wet, grimy floor and threw open his closet door. The trunk was not visible, purposely obscured under stacks and piles of random personal effects, but the groaning thundered out from it. Mathias struggled to understand. It kept increasing in volume until the dull monotonous repetition of the ancient language felt to him as if it were shaking the Monastery itself. It became deafening, screaming at him, much louder than it had ever been before.

Then suddenly, simultaneously, the groaning stopped, and the unmistakable voice of Mathias's father boomed out loudly, as it had during his final ritual, "Soon."

Mathias spun around slamming the closet door behind him, he was shaking violently, every bone in his body vibrating in terror. When he looked out at what should have been his door and the wall around it he saw a vision of a much larger room, with a large table at its center. It appeared to be the monastery library. Leon was laid out upon the table, cut up the middle from groin to collar bone a good three inches deep at least, bleeding profusely, hacking and choking on his own blood and mucus, surely dying.

Mathias staggered back in horror and fell to the ground, splashing into a murky puddle that had pooled next to the bed. He screamed and covered his eyes. When he opened them again everything had returned to normal. He sat alone on the dry carpeted floor, leaning back against his bed, the far wall and door back where they belonged. Mathias's face fell into his hands and he wept alone in the dark.


	6. Chapter 6: Good Intentions

**Chapter 6: Good Intentions.**

Mathias and his men marched down an old dirt road cut through a thick forest. There was almost eighty men in all, spread up and down the road, and the surrounding wilderness. Only about fifteen of them in Mathias's immediate vicinity. They were all semi-heavily armored, armed with several different types of edged weapons, and determined to complete their mission and claim victory for Lord Deaubelle and the church.

As the group of them continued their march, one of Mathias's scouts came barreling out of the tree line, sprinting and stumbling. Appearing to possibly be injured, at the very least winded. "The remaining forces are more than we expected!" He called out still running to them, "A lot more." The scout's words were spaced out due to his loss of breath, and struggle to find it again. He reached the front line and leaned over, hyperventilating for a few seconds before continuing, "We need more men at the front."

Mathias took in the intelligence and threw his right arm forward in an emphatic exaggerated motion, four fingers extended outward. He cried out, "Forward!" and all of his men were at a full sprint. His order was followed by a surprisingly loud whistle, loud enough to be heard faintly for almost half a mile. He turned and gave his orders to Leon at his right. "Stay close to me!" Mathias had been unusually weary of parting with his brother on the battlefield, the result of the horrible vision he had seen weeks prior. Leon had taken notice, and resented it somewhat, but as always he was a great soldier. He nodded in compliance.

Mathias turned to the others, "First order is to win the ongoing battle! Watch for traps! Try to help any of our people that you can! When the fight is won we will regroup and decide the next move!"

They pushed deeper into the forest at a quick pace and it was not long before they reached the ensuing battle. The scene was grim. Corpses from both sides laid scattered across the field, sliced open, pieces of them lopped off, some of the dead bodies still bleeding into the soil. The sky was bleak and white, the grass was sporadically stained red with the still flowing blood. Old dark trees dotted the area, with a thicker tree line a hundred feel or so away.

There were about forty of Mathias's men engaging almost a hundred of Lord Barten's. They were interlocked in a violent back and force. Groups and pairs of opposing fighters stood in their own small scale personal wars, hacking and stabbing the life out of one another. Each man desperately trying to take life in the defense of their own.

Even with Mathias and his accompanying group of knights his side was still grossly outnumbered, but before he could even join the battle two more groups of his men came running out of the forest, one on each side of them, responding to his whistled command.

Now numbering of about eighty five strong, with more still on the way, Mathias's not so little army of reinforcements charged headlong into the battle. Steel crashed against steel, swords stabbed and sliced into flesh, hammers and maces crushed into body parts, smashing bones into rubble, tearing flesh to and fro with each hit.

Though Mathias's men were inferior in number. they were unquestionably the better company. Still undefeated since their founding, united in more than just money and proximity. All their men trained together, ate together, many of them grew up together. They were among the forces most envied in all of Western Europe.

After a relatively short battle the remnants of Lord Barten's hired knights were retreating back towards their patron's large manor. Their numbers were only about half of what they had previously been.

As ordered Leon had kept close to Mathias the length of the fight, chopping and stabbing down at least four of the apposing soldiers himself. It would have been more had he been given complete freedom. Maybe fewer of their own men would be dead now. He was more than a little annoyed. Leon Belmont was no simple body guard.

Mathias called out to his men, "Regroup! Move forward! Toward the manor!" He pointed to one of his scouts, "Retrieve the remaining battalions! Send them to us!"

The men marched at a half jog towards the large mansion of Lord Barten. After they had made it almost half way Mathias stop[ed suddenly, holding out a fist, signaling the others to do the same. They all paused, confused.

Leon though mostly preoccupied with his resentment, was a keen practitioner of the battle field. He knew when a fight was too easy, and he spoke up about it, "What just happened?"

With Leon's words Mathias eyes went wide as he realized it as well. It was so obvious, he should have realized it far sooner, "This is a trap." It was too late, just after Mathias said it aloud a horde of arrows came flying up from out from the treeline in the distance. Mathias screamed out instantly, "Cover yourselves!"

Mathias's men all jumped into action in a feverish attempt to comply with the order. Some of them were quick enough to flee back to the trees for cover. Some simply crumpled down beneath their upheld shields. Others seemed lost in confusion or panic. Leon tackled Mathias under a nearby tree and threw his large shield over the two of them.

Just after they were both covered it was as if the heavens had opened up with a rain of arrows. They stabbed down into the ground all around them, several pierced through the shield and into Leon's arm. The men were no better off, and some of them worse. Several had been absolutely riddled with arrows as they fled, falling to the ground, twisting in horrible pain as they died.

Mathias whistled loudly in a strange, but very specific melody, sending his troops scattering into the trees. "Keep moving Forward! Go around!" Mathias called out continuing to bark out commands despite the devastating surprise attack.

Leon pulled them both back up to their feet and the two were off and running forward again almost immediately. They were heading straight for the house, forswearing the safer path through the trees for the swiftness of a straight line A straight line toward the far trees that had spit out the rain of arrows.

After what felt like a trifle of seconds another torrent of arrows came. Leon and Mathias continued to press forward at their full pace until at the last possible second Leon threw up his shield again and pulled Mathias in with him behind it. Once more he saved both of their lives, steel arrow heads stabbed through in several places, tearing up Leon's forearm even more. He grunted in pain but did not falter.

When the way was clear again the two men were running, and when again a third wave of arrows began to bolt through the trees up into the sky Mathias' remaining forces had almost made it around, not having to stop and protect themselves. This time Leon pulled the pair of them tumbling across the ground and behind a stray tree, granting Leon's shredded forearm a much needed reprieve.

Before the next shot of arrows could fly Mathias's men reached the hidden bowmen, and charged them down, crushing them with little effective resistance. What few arrows managed to fire flew erratically as their launchers were cut down mid shot.

When the danger of the arrows had passed Mathias called his men to him. Blood dripped from the small puncture wounds on Leon's forearm, but he appeared completely unaffected by it. The men gathered together in front of the mansion, feeling very much as if victory were not far.

Mathias spoke to his troops, "There is bound to be some resistance once we're inside! We're almost finished boys! This nigh year long campaign ends tonight! Don't slow down now!"

The men charged forward pridefully, more than ready to be done with it and receive their rewards. But before any of them were able to reach the door there came a massive rhythmic crashing sound... Boom... Boom... Boom. The men paused, stopped dead in their tracks as the ground underneath them shook with each crash.

Suddenly the large wooden doors of the manor burst open with such force that they shattered into pieces. A moment later, out from the doorway stomped a massive man in what appeared to be an impossibly thick and heavy suit of armor. It covered him from head to toe. He must have been seven feet tall at least, and the armor close to a thousand pounds.

The armored man was holding an inch thick chain in one hand that extended to a giant arced round ax blade, roughly to feet in diameter, in the other. But the eeriest thing about the man was the way he seemed to glow a barely noticeable dull green. It was like a thin, almost indistinguishable vapor that emanated from him.

The men were unnerved and this new enemy wasted no time in exploiting the psychological blow. He hurled the ax blade at the largest grouping of them and it flew through the air with a speed that did not seem humanly possible. Less than a second after it left the gauntlet the axe had severed one of the men completely in half at the waist, and shredding deep wounds into several of the others.

The horrible giant ripped the chain back in another bout of super human strength, and it came flying back to him. It was quickly back in the monster's hand, caught like it was nothing more than a stick or small knife. Along the return trip it had killed another two of Mathias's knights.

The men were screaming, some on the ground in pieces and in shock, some of them dying, some running and ducking for cover. Others screamed in terror and fled back into the surrounding woods. Mathias was uncharacteristically paralyzed. This was supposed to have been a relatively easy operation. It had turned into something much much more.

Leon, however, did not flee. He stood his ground bravely, and the others magnetically fell in around him. He pulled a heavy spiked war hammer from a fallen companion and without a second though, he charged. It was a shock to everyone, including Mathias. Some the men behind him lunged forward, but none of them could bring themselves attack, none were brave enough. Leon was even more heroic and foolhardy than they all had thought.

The axe was tossed again furiously with every bit as much force as before, only this time aimed directly at Leon. He lunged to the side, barely slowing his pace, and the vertical blade flew right past him on the left, so close it almost shaves off facial hair. Before the thing could pull the blade back Leon was already leaping into the air, hammer clenched in both fists and raised high over his head. He came down, slamming the hammer into the armored head with all the force of his might and the momentum of his fall. The warrior jerked down, buckling slightly with the blow. It stumbled forward, the axe blade fell and sat in the ground nearby.

Before an instant could pass Leon was spinning around backwards, taking the hammer all the way around his body, and back upwards, this time striking directly at the face of the armored enemy with a powerful uppercut, using the swinging momentum to strike with even greater force than the first.

The hammer smashed into the armored face, a devastating blow. It sent the head reeling back with enough force to break a man's neck. The large foe stumbled backwards. Leon stood panting but unmoving, expecting the thing to topple over, expecting victory.

Mathias was frozen. He watched the battle intently. His men were dead or fleeing, only about ten or so remained close by, battle ready. None of them were able to look away from the fight.

Just moments after Leon's decisive blow the thing lowered its head back down, no neck had been broken. The helmet was slightly battered, but beyond that there appeared to be no effect. It quickly jerked on the chain, pulling the massive blade up out of the dirt and back into its hand.

Leon angrily went in for another attack, but the armored behemoth quickly swung violently the blade that it still held in its massive gauntlet. Leon barely managed to deflect with the metal handle of the hammer, but the force of the strike sent him flying back several yards, exactly where this foe had wanted him to be. It hurled the blade directly at him even harder then the previous launches. It flew through the air horizontally, hoping to rend Leon in half at the waist. Leon leaped into the air, his legs kicking back and extending behind him. The blade flew just an inch or so below him, sparking the iron grieves on his feet as it nicked his toes.

Leon landed, just barely able to stay on his feet, and hurled the hammer with all of his strength. It arced through the air, spinning furiously in a circle, wobbling slightly for the weight of the head. It struck the helmet once again, banging into it with such force that several small sections around the face cracked open. Leon was almost immediately in the air again, catching the hammer as it bounced away with almost equal the force with which it had struck. The thing was stunned, and Leon came down on it with his hardest blow yet, at the top of the head. It hit so hard that the entire face piece snapped off and fell to the ground with a loud clank, as the whole thing fell to one knee with a thud.

It sat hunched over on its knee for a few moments, then slowly looked up at Leon. The missing face revealed the truth of the enemy that they had all half assumed already. The armor was empty. There was no one inside of it, just a more apparent, much more vibrant version of that foggy green glow. Leon was taken aback for the first time in his military career, completely stunned.

The armor wasted no time in taking advantage of the shock and threw its axe blade out once more. Leon pulled hard to his left and just managed to get out of the way. The axe flew past him, vertically this time, and into a small grouping of the other soldiers standing off in terror and awe, killing another one of them and slicing clean through a tree trunk behind him. The tree toppled over and crashed into the ground, sending several soldiers fleeing out of the way, adding even more chaos to the situation. The armor pulled the blade back to itself after just a couple of seconds.

Mathias ran up and grabbed Leon, yanking him back and away from the armor. He was well aware of what was going on. Lord Barten was employing the use of magics, giving himself an advantage to make up for his lack of numbers. Worse still Mathias looked at the blade the axe of the massive unnatural fighter, and he thought of his vision, of Leon splayed open up the middle, dying.

"Get away from it Leon! Now!" Mathias screamed the order. Leon pulled against his commander, as if trying to rush back into combat with the titanic armor.

"This is an order Leon! Fall back now!" Mathias appeared to be growing angry, but in reality it was desperation that fueled him. He was desperate to get his brother away from this thing before it killed him, or them both.

Leon had never defied Mathias's commands in battle. He had frequently wanted to, even when in the end Mathias had almost always proven right, but this time was different and Leon knew it. Mathias had been different for weeks. He had been keeping Leon close, keeping him from flying into the true fray of the battles, scarcely letting him out of his sight. The current situation was different as well, far different. Leon had not seen anything supernatural since he was a small boy, and never such a vulgar display of power, of disregard for the laws of nature.

Leon stopped and looked back at his commander, at his brother, "No Mathias." The words came out like thunder, "I have to destroy this thing or many more of our brothers will die. Or this conflict will drag on to the ruin of all involved."

Mathias glared at Leon with what again appeared to be, but wasn't truly, anger, "You cannot stop this thing Leon!"

"Maybe not!" Leon did not wait for Mathias to finish, "But I can distract it long enough for you get in and take out Barten!"

Mathias stood silent, stewing with the logic of the tactic conflicting with the worry for his brother's life. He finally composed himself and turned back to his other men, "Into the mansion boys!" He held his blade out in front of him, turned to Leon, "How long can you hold it?"

"Just go!" Leon did not truly answer. He was unsure of what the true answer was, but unwilling to risk Mathias's wavering.

Mathias marched to the house, a flurry of his men scattered seemingly randomly all around him. He called out, "Squad four, with me!" Six men broke from the group and fell in around him.

Leon stared determinedly at the towering armor. Having its head bashed to pieces had done very little to slow it down. If Leon did feel fear he did not show it. It was no more than an instant before he was again swinging the now rather battered hammer, whaling at the armor over and over, focusing on where its right arm met its shoulder. It was one of few areas that appeared less invulnerable than the rest. The force of the blows did little to stun the behemoth, but the metal did dent and warp nicely with each strike.

Meanwhile inside the mansion Mathias and his squad marched through the rooms, kicking in doors, slaying whatever remaining forces there were inside. "Wherever we find Lord Barten, I am certain we will find the summoner."

Though Mathias's men understood only a portion about what he spoke they followed him loyally. They had all been hunting Lord Barten for close to a year now, they were eager to see the end of it.

It did not take long for them to sweep the entirety of the house. Ransacking every room in search of hidden survivors and passages. Finally in the innermost section they found a small secret passage that led to an inward hallway that run under the house. It was lined with six remaining soldiers, and ending in a large bolted steel door.

Leon rushed in closer to the armor as its axe flew outward. He again ducked underneath it quickly to avoid certain death. When he was close enough he jammed the handle of the hammer between two pieces of armor around the thing's chest. He tried his strength against it, pulling down on the hammer with all his might, trying to pry the armor apart. After a few grueling seconds the pole of the hammer started to bend and Leon pulled the weapon out, narrowly missing another swipe of the axe. He leaped back again as the axe returned to the armor.

Mathias' men battled through the last of Lord Barten's hired guards, and were quickly ramming into the thick door. After a few powerful hits the door gave way and cracked off of its hinges, slamming into the stone floor below. The men burst into a small dark room with several candles lit along the walls, and a strange dark writing lining the walls, floor, and the loose furniture. In the center of the room was a very strange looking robed man with ashen white paint spattered across his face, a long dirty beard, and black ash symbols marked all about him.

In front of the man was a podium upon which sat a skull with a candle burning on top of it, and similar strange symbols carved in at the forehead. It was identical to the one on the man's own forehead. The skull sat within a small circle of more of the esoteric symbols, these ones seeming to glow that same foggy green as the armor.

The armor at the front tossed its axe again. This time the blade finally managed to hit its mark. As Leon tried to leap to the side he ever so slightly underestimated the blade's path and it easily tore through his armor and into his flesh, cutting from groin to collar bone a good four inches at the deepest. Simultaneously Mathias rushed the conjurer and drove his long thin blade through the warlock's heart. Leon fell to the ground, writhing and bleeding profusely.

Mathias held the trembling dying conjurer in his arms, and as all life left him the armor collapsed out front as well. Mathias paused then looked around at the various strange books, items, and symbols with a burning desire. Some of the things here were certainly related to what he had learned from the trunk, but some was distinctly different. The possibility, the knowledge, it enticed him thoroughly.

Mathias's trance faded quickly as he heard the calls from the front of the house, calls of, "Leon is down!", "It's bad!", "He's done for!"

Mathias flew back out into the trees, almost inhumanly quickly. He was quickly down, kneeling over Leon, who was panting heavily, blood virtually pouring from his wounds. He seemed to be trying to speak, but his mouth just opened and closed, twitching erratically. His eyes gazed out at no fixed point in particular, his stare half blank and fading. It was all too clear to Mathias, and everyone, that his best friend, his brother, would very soon be dead. The vision had come true. Mathias had the wound dressed anyway. He laced it with herbs and chemicals he had handy that he knew would help slow the inevitable, and they were both immediately off to the monastery in Mathias's private carriage, alone.

Luckily the monastery was not far from the battlefield, and when they arrived Mathias frantically ordered two guards outside to move Leon up to the library area, and told them what instruments he would need them to prepare for him. They did as they were told carefully but quickly. Mathias went off to his room and threw his closet open, digging through it all the way to very back, taking in hand the old chest that he had not so much as even looked at in years. If the dull rumbling moan returned Mathias was too determined in the task at hand to notice.

He entered his study and saw Leon laid out on the table. He was unconscious and bleeding through his bandages, but he was still gasping for air, and sweating profusely. Mathias ripped open the trunk and stared down into the objects within. He paused for just a moment. For the last time in his life, Mathias Cronqvist hesitated.

Mathias stared down at the accursed things, and back up at his dying friend. He knew that the necessary procedures and incantations for saving his brother's life lay within, be he also knew that magics such as these rarely if ever came without serious consequence. Mathias decided to push forward anyway, that it was worth whatever the risk may be.

He reached into the old crate, pulled out the "S _epher Ha-Razim,"_ and quickly opened to a page whose title roughly translated to "The preservation of fading life." He scanned it quickly, and grabbed other artifacts and elements from the box, positioning them on the table, administering things into Leon's wounds and mouth, all the while chanting from the book. He knew that the night would be long and difficult, and without guarantees.

The next morning, when Elisabetha, her father, and Sara arrived Mathias was in a deep sleep, having stayed up much of the previous night in his labors. Leon however was awake, and miraculously recovered. He was still in dire shape, but far from death. Whatever Mathias had been forced to do, it had worked. Leon was out of harms way, he was saved. The risks be damned. Leon Belmont was alive.


	7. Chapter 7: The Descent

**Chapter 7: The Descent.**

The full force of Mathias and Leon's company marched through the craggy forest, towards Lord Barten's final stronghold. The woods here were broken into sections of green trees separated by rocky slopes and quarries. Barten had managed to escape the previous assault through a series of tunnels discovered after Mathias and Leon's sudden departure. His men had followed into the tunnels, only to find that they stretched for miles. The men attempted to pursue Barten but eventually came up to a recent, hastily crafted, but impenetrable barricade.

The company had learned via interrogation of a secret dungeon-like fortress hidden underground in the forest, accessible only from a series of tunnels that had been carved through the old cave system which spread inland from a large quarry. The stronghold was more ancient than any roots that Lord Barten had in the area. It was unknown how long he had been using the fortress and tunnel system. The torture of his men could only produce its location. None of them knew exactly how it was that Barten had come to inhabit it.

As they marched Mathias's mind was locked in a terrible duality. He scanned the forest in search for signs of entry, for enemy soldiers, but he simultaneously replayed the events of the previous night over and over in his head., of what Barten's own dip into the dark arts had forced him into.

He had been alone in his room, kneeling on the floor surrounded by a strange arcane setup. All the furniture had been removed. The windows were completely blacked out. On the floor in front of him was a large circle of strange markings and symbols. There were several smaller circles of equally arcane design marking the floor outside of the larger circle. Several sections of armor and weapons were scattered about neatly, resting in the centers of the circles. Sitting directly in front of the kneeling Mathias were one medium sized clay bowl with what appeared to be blood inside of it, a smaller bowl containing a strange moss, and a long thin dagger. On the other side of the bowls was an ancient book from his growing collection, it was open, revealing another strange scrawling script that few men in the world of Christendom had ever seen. Mathias began to chant in the same inhuman language his father had decades before. The same language of the terrible groaning.

After a drawn out incantation in that antediluvian tongue Mathias shifted into his own native language and continued the spell. He would not allow Lord Barten to wield any advantage over them, "Harden thy steel. To protect, and to destroy."

He dipped his fingers into the blood-filled bowl and flicked the contents into one of the empty circles in front of him, to the left, "Harden thy muscle, thy bone. To withstand, and to tear asunder."

He dipped his fingers once again, and flicked the blood into another circle. "Harden thy resolve, thy wit, and thy courage. To out stand, to out smart, and to triumph."

He dipped his fingers once more and trickled the blood onto his own brow, "Sharpen my mind. To grant clarity."

Mathias placed his hands on his knees and sat quietly. The room hung in a strange ethereal haze, though physically unchanging, there was an air of something other worldly about the place. It was naught but silence for several seconds before the room began to grow subtly darker. The wood of the walls creaked as the air pressure in the room shifted dramatically. Though Mathias was sitting in his room he had used since childhood, he felt as if the room were now floating alone out somewhere deep in the cosmos. The stone of the floors groaned, rumbling softly.

A very slight almost inaudible whispering came chattering up from all around the room. Mathias felt the presence of others entering the room, they felt distinctly non human. He spoke again, "Take the blood of our enemies in exchange, as sacrifice." He dipped his fingers in a final time and flung even more of the blood than before, tossing it into each of the circles. He then lit the pile of strange moss sitting in the smaller bowl. It burned slowly, giving off a thick white smoke.

The room grew darker still, but the smoke from the bowl almost seemed fluorescent, like it were glowing somehow, shining bright among the darkness, keeping the room from falling completely into blackness. There were strange movements in the darkness, all around the room. It was just on the edge of noticeable. The room also took on a terrible, yet familiar, acrid smell. It merged with the thickening atmosphere to make the room feel almost as if it were underwater, or something akin to it.

That same old fear that Mathias had never truly forgotten returned again. He had felt it several time over the last weeks, become familiar with it, but it was transformed now. He was flush with anticipation, a horrible excitement more powerful than anything he had ever experienced. It drowned out the far. It was one with it, a balance that teetered on an edge, dipping into both extremes of emotion.

The flickering shadowy movements slowly merged together from all across the room, converging directly across the large circle from Mathias. They formed into something just on the brink of visibility. It was like a shadow that hinted at a solid form, more than a silhouette, but not truly seen. It was some kind of bestial, skeletal, corpse-like head. As it formed a similar groaning to that which came from the Necronomicon rattled the room. Then most horrifyingly of all, It spoke. Its words boomed from its festered maw, shaking the whole of the room, "C'athg goka wgah'n f'bthnk."

Mathias lifted a small dagger from in front of him, and made a long shallow incision down the palm of his left hand. The blood dripped from the wound and fell directly into the circle that was etched on the floor just in front of him. He spoke again in the infernal language that was older than man, "Tharanak **Leon** orr'e s'uhn."

The dark being replied, "Y'hah."

Mathias closed his eyes, holding his eye lids down fiercely. He was comfortable that he knew the principles well enough, but theory was one thing, practice something very different. When he opened his eyes the room had returned to normal. The smoke from the bowl died away slowly. The being, and all abnormality of the room, other than the etched symbols, had faded.

It had been six days since that long night, the night Mathias plunged headlong into darkness to save his brother. Mathias's obsession with the knowledge in the trunk had ripped back open and was now an unstoppable torrent. If his enemies were to use the dark arts against him, he had no choice but to follow suit, or fail. Mathias had never been able to accept failure. Miraculously Leon was already almost fully healed. It was credited to Mathias's advanced medical knowledge and prayer, as well as the salves and remedies available to him in the monastery.

Mathias' small army was ready and itching for the final battle. Despite his grisly injuries less than a week before Leon was more anxious than any to march on Lord Barten's final stronghold. He may not have been completely healed, but he felt a fire in his heart like ha never had before. A fire that needed things to burn. He had insisted on arming up and taking part in the final assault, against the advice of literally every living person that cared for him.

The scene at the final battle was far different than the one that preceded it. Lord Barten's forces had now dwindled to pitiful sixty men, and those sixty far from extraordinary combatants. It had only been six days, not nearly long enough for Barten hire more mercenaries to his cause. He had hoped that the safety of the underground fortress would be enough to protect him until he could acquire more forces. It was the hopeless dream of an utterly defeated warlord.

Mathias' men through the comparatively puny opposing force. Very little mercy was granted at this point to anyone willing to align themselves with crook Lord, as he had become known as to the people of the surrounding areas. Mathias' men fought with a new found cunning and ferociousness, tearing through the enemy soldiers as if they were already dead.

Most impressive of all was Leon. The Lion, as he would be known by all from then on, was like a thing out of myth. A medieval Samson, or Achilles, or any number of supernatural super soldiers. He cut down his enemies in droves, up to three or four at a time with a single blow. He danced across the field of battle in a manner reminiscent of jungle cat hunting its prey. His brothers in arms charged forward just behind him.

After the men quickly broke through the defenses, and on through the large wood and metal gate, they swarmed in with such numbers as to fill completely the space within. Lord Barten was dragged out across the floor violently, kicked and spat upon the whole way out, and thrown unceremoniously out onto the hard ground outside. He was brought up onto his knees. A circular barrier circle of pointed blades pressed in quickly around him.

A small gap opened in the swords and Mathias walked forward, he had actually done no fighting at all himself that day. He walked up to the bleeding, defeated, kneeling man and pulled out his long thin blade. As he continued toward him Lord Barten just looked up at Mathias hopefully, he said nothing.

Mathias came in close and pressed the point of his blade up against Lord Barten's throat. Lord Barten tried to squirm away, but a few firmly planted prods in the back by the other knight's swords convinced him to stay put, he inhaled rapidly, tears pooling up in his eyes. Mathias knew that Lord Deaubelle and the Abbot would want him to be taken alive, to be questioned and held accountable for his actions.

Mathias stared down into the man's eyes. He wanted very much to kill Lord Barten. The look in Mathias's eyes grew increasingly savage. His heart and mind battled over the outcome. He knew he should take the man alive, but he could not stop thinking about the many faces now gone because of this man, what had almost happened to Leon, of the creature this man had summoned and used against them.

It was all too much. He knew that deep inside his mind was already long made. It had been made before the battle had even started. The dull groaning came again. It was clear now that the voice behind it was that of the creature Mathias had dealt with the previous night. That it always had been.

Mathias glared down at Barten for another moment, and began to slowly press the tiny point of his blade into Lord Barten's throat. He was grimacing furiously at the man who had cost him so much, so many of his men, possibly even his own soul. He continued to slowly push the blade through clear the skin, into the thick spasming muscle. Barten's eyes bulged, but due to the knife's position he was unable to scream. The blade continued, cracking through hard bone, and pushed all the way through and out his back. The doomed man struggled under Mathias's grip for just a moment, and then fell to the ground dead, blood oozing from both sides of the wound.

The men were somewhat shocked by their commander's action, but not terribly affected by them. They had all lost close friends to this man and those that served him, and none of them were strangers to violence and death. For many it seemed a fitting and earned ending to the horrible Lord Barten.

Mathias seemed unaffected himself by the deed he had just committed, the execution carried out in anger. Deep down somewhere inside though, he some how knew that it had actually changed him more than he could ever truly know. Even if it were but a small nudge down a path on which he already walked, it helped to erode away at his conscience.

As the troop returned to the monastery Mathias felt slightly nervous. He did not want Lord Deaubelle or especially the Abbot to find out about what had happened when they captured Lord Barten. Mathias knew that Lord Deaubelle would perhaps be disappointed, though not terribly. He would get over it and celebrate the victory, but the Abbot... The Abbot would be gravely concerned, he would not approve of such barbarous violence.

Mathias felt something like guilt, but it was tainted by a sense of resentment. Who as the Abbott, who sat comfortably in his office while Mathias and his men did all the dirty work, to criticize his methods. Mathias felt nervous too that such thoughts crossed his mind. A part of him knew that the Abbott would be right, that he had crossed a line, but another part held onto the resentment.

When they arrived Mathias stood at the entryway for a moment, staring at the door. He did not want to enter. He knew there was no way to keep what had happened, his actions, a secret from his benefactors for long. Perhaps a quick honest divulgence would be better than should they find out on their own via other means later. Finally he pushed open the door and stepped inside.

Elisabetha and Sarah were sitting in the main hall waiting for the return of their men. Mathias looked over to his love, trying to hide the strife going on in his mind. She stared back at him with grave concern. "Could she know already?" Mathias wondered, even though it was obvious that she could not. He went to her.

"Is everything alright my love?" He was troubled by her disposition, something was certainly amiss.

Unfortunately she could give him no answers, not yet at least, on order of her father, the Abbott, and others of even higher standing. "You'd best go report my love. They've important news for you as well. I will be here waiting for you no matter how long it takes."

Mathias was bordering on anger, but not with Elisabetha. He did not like when she was pulled into the official business of his work. When strange powerful men gave her orders on his behalf. Mathias's temper had only grown with his years, and it was a terrible thing to be on the receiving end of. "Yes my dear. I promise you I will not take long." He meant it, he would not keep her waiting, regardless of who awaited him up stairs, or what they had to say.

He made his way up stairs to report directly to Lord Deaubelle and the Abbot, and to find out just what the hell it was that was going on. As he entered the main office, the true gravity of the situation his him hard. There were several other unexpected guests present, esteemed guests. There was a pair of priests, a nun, and even a Bishop. The Abbot and Lord Deaubelle looked over to Mathias as he entered, both of them looked troubled. Mathias's temper gave way to a nervousness, he did not like feeling so lost and unaware of what was happening.

The Abbot motioned for the others to give him a moment, and they piled out of the room. The Bishop smiled to Mathias, and to his great surprise actually gave a small bow. The Abbot walked over to Mathias. His face was a bit strained, he hesitated, no speaking but clearly wanting to say something.

Mathias spoke first, to get things moving, "I've come to report on the battle." He tried to ignore the strange circumstances. But the Abbot spoke as if he had said nothing at all.

"Mathias, something big has happened." The Abbot spoke with a level of care usually reserved for newly orphaned arrivals.

Mathias knew that he was stalling, delaying whatever news it was needed be delivered, his resentment stirred ever greater, "Is victory in our year long campaign, a campaign that claimed the lives of dozens of my men, not something big?" Mathias was being far more indignant than he normally was, more arrogant, more openly angry. But the Abbot did not react to it.

"No Mathias. Not anymore." He exhaled slowly, almost wincing under the pressure of the news he carried. "There is word from Rome, from the Vatican. It seems that the Pope has decided it is time for us to take back the Holy Land."


	8. Chapter 8: Escalation

**Chapter 8: Escalation.**

Mathias sat on the floor of a dark room. There was no furniture. The windows were blocked out. It was an eerily familiar scene in unfamiliar scenery. He was far from his home now, thousands of miles from the Monastery, near the front line. They were currently engaged in the Crusade for Jerusalem, a holy war for the true capitol of all Abrahamic religions. It was a site more holy even than the Papacy in Rome.

They had been at this fight for close to a year and a half now, and it was a wholly different kind of war than that which they had known. Their zeal and righteousness in their work had never been higher, matched only by that of their enemies. Every man on the field, on both sides, fought with everything they had, absolutely certain that they were right.

On the floor all around Mathias were etched the same arcane circles he had used previously, with similar content as well. There was armor, weapons, what appeared to be blood. This time however there were an even greater number of markings. There were not only more complex arrangements of them, but also other smaller circles in places previously blank. They crossed and zigzagged around each other in a way that gave a peculiar sense of depth. It caste an extra dimension onto the greater symbol upon the floor, as well as the process itself. Within the seemingly spherical whirling symbols there sat equally other worldly contents, strange artifacts and what appeared to be tiny deformed organs.

Just as before the room was darker than a moonless night, somehow beyond what even the darkest shadow would produce. Mathias sat with his eyes closed, his arms out in front of him bending up, his fingers twisted into strange symbols. He was whispering under his breath. After a moment more of prayer he opened his eyes and in front of him, after seeming to coalesce out of the darkness, appeared the horrid shadowy skeletal being that he had dealt with before.

It was not alone this time, barely visible shapes writhed around all corners of the room. Mathias extended his hands, now holding his knife in the right one. He cut a shallow gash across his left palm and spilled his blood into one of the circles just below it.

Mathias began to speak in the inhuman language, to converse with the demon in front of him. He was different now than before, a vastly changed man. He spoke with no fear or nervousness. He controlled the conversation, commanded. He acted with the confidence of someone else. Mathias had always been confident, even in boyhood, but now it was different. He channeled the resoluteness of his father, of generations of Cronqvist men. He channeled it to a means beyond any of them, at least to his mind. He seemed to be in complete control of the situation. The rumbling sound rang loud and low in the background, shaking the room subtly.

The terrible creature spoke, " 'Bthnk ch' k'yarnak hafh 'drn."

Mathias answered, now very much comfortable with the words, to a level that defied his biology, "Yar tharanak orr'e mg."

The beast paused for a moment, didn't react at all, but eventually spoke again. "Kn'a li'hee gotha hafh 'drn."

Mathias stared coldly into the just visible entity. He felt its presence on his soul. It was warning him. The cost of his incantations grew ever higher, but the Crusade offered plentiful sacrifices. He was confident his men could continue to provide the necessary sacrifices his work demanded. An unending army of heathen souls.

He continued to stare down the demon as if he were the more frightening one in the room. He was not finished yet, "Tharanak **Leon** orr'e s'uhn."

The dark being replied, "Y'hah."

A few hours later Mathias was standing near the front lines, Leon stood at his immediate right, a group of about forty more knights at his back. They were fearless, powerful, their weapons and armor appeared to somehow be stronger they ought to be. Looking at them gave the distinct impression that they were nigh indestructible. They were a fearsome group to put it lightly. After over a year of Mathias' incantations they had gone from the best company in western Europe to a force the likes of which hadn't been seen since the Argonauts, or the 300 Spartans.

Leon particularly looked hardened. He was stronger now, visibly so. He even seemed to be a little taller. He had new scars, some fresh, others already mostly healed. There was something heroic in his profile, some indistinguishable difference that elevated his presence above those of his comrades.

They were all huddled near a small hill extending out of a forest, on the other side of which was a large open field that had recently become the most regular scene of combat. Though it was a wobbly and ever changing distinction, it was considered by most to be the front line.

Mathias, Leon, and a couple of their supporting knights were crouched down, quietly sneaking up the hill, ducking behind some light wild shrubbery, obscuring themselves as they tried to look out onto the battlefield. The line had been held there for days. Neither side had yet proven able to claim the whole of the expanse. Mathias looked out over it, to survey the current situation.

Different groups of completely disorganized and unregulated European "crusaders" charged out into battle with hardened Muslim soldiers. It was a bloodbath, "Damn it." Mathias pulled back, walked down to his primary force. He was no longer taking any care to hide himself, his enemies in eye shot were currently occupied, "What were they thinking calling everyone and their grandfather out to war? These peasants and drunkards only serve as practice for the heretics!"

Mathias had grown increasingly frustrated with the amateur force of "every-man" soldiers that had come to make up the vast majority of the christian force in the war. They repeatedly gave away positions to the enemy in foolhardy head on charges. They attacked the local christian civilians. They had even attacked Mathias' own company on more than one occasion. It tested his patience, and even caused him to question at times whether or not the whole conflict had devolved into an utterly futile struggle, but the events of the last few years had made Mathias into a man who fancied himself invincible, and his company unstoppable.

"We wait until the last of those fools is dead or fleeing. Hopefully they will serve to at least tire the enemy a bit." Mathias had no compassion or pity for the rabble, they were likely drunk and even more likely to have already committed unspeakable, heinous crimes in the name of the church. It made Mathias at times feel physically ill, both for the desecration it made of the Lord's name, as well as its undeniable similarity to his own current paradoxical situation.

As he awaited the coming battle Mathias's mind focused on something else entirely, something that had been gnawing at him more and more over the past months. It was an important moment he had shared alone with Elisabetha, on the night before their wedding. Elisabetha had seemed far more concerned than excited. It was not due to any ordinary wedding jitters that she felt so worried. The wedding was to take place the very day before Mathias and his company of knights were to set off for the holy crusade.

Elisabetha was looking out a large window onto the open field down below. Everything was arranged beautifully for the following day's ceremony. There were seats set out in rows forming a large semi-circle, a carpeted path for the two of them to walk down, a specially crafted veranda made just for the event where they would give their vows. A beautiful bouquet of flowers sat atop the podium where the father would perform the ceremony. Even in the face of all of the lovely details, Elisabetha was crying, and it was not tears of joy. She tried to hide it, weeping as quietly and under her breath as she could.

When Mathias entered the room he could see right through her. Immediately his only concern was her feelings, he tried to comfort her. He walked up behind her and placed his warm, caring hands on her shoulders, "Do not worry my love. We are the most skilled company in all of Europe. There is none that could stand against us. Tomorrow we shall be married, and in two years time we shall both of us be set for the rest of our lives, any beyond."

"But those soldiers..." Her voice was cracking under the emotional weight, his smooth comforting words were not enough to drive her mind from what truly concerned it, "I've heard that they fight with a savagery that christian folk have never seen." She turned to him, "They will stop at nothing to kill you." She leaned in against him, weeping harder still.

"That is no different from any man that I have ever faced combat." He embraced her, closed his arms around her in a protective wall. "I have already seen the very depths of human savagery, and I have always come out on top. I am sure these men fight for their lives as savagely as any other. No more, no less."

"Some have even said that they use black magic to unfairly turn the tide for their soldiers." Elisabetha said, wiping her nose as her sobs weakened slightly.

Mathias held her close to him. He did not speak a word. What she said struck him terribly close to home in more ways than she could ever imagine. Mathias felt his world start to slip slightly, and he could have sworn that the room grew somewhat darker. He fell into an almost trance-like state. But after a moment he shook his head and regained his bearings.

After a brief moment of the continued silence Elisabetha spoke again, staring forlornly into his eyes, her own puffy and red and pleading, "Are you not afraid my love?"

"I am not. I have no doubt whatsoever in the abilities my men, nor in my ability to lead them to victory." Mathias exuded an uncharacteristic arrogance that reeked of nobility, but it comforted his worried betrothed.

"And what of the things you'll be forced to do? I've seen how your work weighs on you so..." Elisabetha continued to show her concern for Mathias's well being.

Mathias pressed her closer into him, but his gaze pierced outward over her shoulder. Her words had far more meaning then even she realized. Mathias replied to the infinitely profound question Elisabetha didn't know she had asked, "It's different now." Mathias answered unshaken, this was a question he had clearly spent time mustering over himself already, "We fight and risk our lives for the sake of God now. Whatever is required of us to achieve victory is justified, as is whatever we have done so far to get to where we are now."

Mathias snapped back to real time as the Muslim soldiers were finishing off the rabid and disorderly militia. They had fared about as well as expected, having managed to kill two or three of the heretics in a sloppy flailing charge, but they were quickly over run and slashed to pieces. Mathias signaled his men to move forward. After a quick and quiet approach he screamed out ferociously, "Charge now! While they're still finishing off the others!"

Mathias's troop broke out into the field at a feverish sprint. They managed to reach the enemy just as they cut down the last of the amateur soldiers. The enemies turned, ready to continue their fight, but greatly underestimating the abilities of Mathias's company. The fight with the rabble had not only tired the Muslims out, it had also given them a false impression of what the true Christian forces were capable of.

The battle started out rather lopsidedly. As Mathias' men crashed into the enemy, their hardened armor and engorged muscle battered the Muslims back. Nigh unbreakable steel blades sliced through armor they should not have been able to, cutting deeply into the flesh beneath.

The Muslim soldiers had been caught completely off guard by the difference in skill of these Christian warriors, as well as their seemingly supernatural might. After a few moments of fighting while stumbling back the they regained their balance, fell back into their comfortable battle rhythms. The true battle finally began.

One of the Muslim lot, seemingly some kind of tactician, fell back behind the warriors. He called back with him a single line of fighters, leaving the rest to remain holding the front. Mathias took note from behind his own men as the front lines traded swift careful swipes at one another through gritted teach and adrenaline addled muscle. The Muslim tactician quickly tossed out small burlap pouches from his armor to the surrounding men he had called back with him. As they caught them, the men quickly inhaled their powdery contents.

In seconds all the soldiers who had inhaled the substance out of the sacks began to scream in pain as their muscles bulged out, flexing so terribly tightly they looked like they would pop. Their bodies contorted in rapid unnatural spasms. The pulsing muscles started to stretch, expanding out with each spasm. They grew quick, asymmetrical, sporadic growths. By the time the process was complete each of them had grown to over seven feet in height and had taken on feral animalistic features and body language. They had become savage, only partially intelligent brutes.

The monstrous men screamed out with primal fury and pain. They stomped and shook the earth beneath their feet. There were only about seven of them, but a single look at them would have sent a small army fleeing in terror. Add to that the dozen or so remaining normal soldiers and things had taken a swift turn for Mathias and his men. This would be no easy victory, if it were to be a victory at all.

Mathias's men had no time to react. They were already locked in life or death combat with the normal soldiers at the front line. It was only another instant before the hulking enhanced soldiers came bludgeoning forward. They violently knocked away even their own compatriots in a blind frenzy for battle.

The first of them to reach Mathias's men swung his large two handed sword in just one. His strength was so that it smashed against a defending blade with enough force to shatter the other blade and continue down into the knight that had been wielding it, sinking his own sword in between the man's shoulder and neck. Before the wounded soldier could get out as much as a scream the hulking warrior bashed his head with an iron-gloved fist, denting into the helmet and crushing the skull inside. Blood splattered out in all directions from the twisted metal disturbingly. The knight was dead before he hit the ground.

As the other enhanced charged forward Mathias wasted no time. A lesser leader would have panicked, possibly fled. Most would have retreated at the sight of them, but Mathias knew that his own men, while not as obviously outwardly fearsome, were supernaturally enhanced as well.

"Pull back! Spears forward!" If Mathias' own troop had not proven to be among the greatest in history he may have faltered. "Leon to me!" His soldiers instantly fell into position, the swordsmen pulled behind the spearmen, who had the length advantage to temporarily hold the hulking behemoths back.

The fiends did not seem at all concerned with their own well being and charged into the spear tips without hesitation. They stabbed into flesh and blood gushed from the wounds dramatically. The spears were unfortunately quick to snap, and those that did not were quickly ripped away by massive angry hands.

Mathias continued to call out commands. He first turned to Leon, who was already as his side, "Take out the supporters. The regular soldiers, as many and as quickly as you can!" Leon was off and Mathias turned back to others, "Focus all attacks on the big ones!"

Leon in an instant was at his work and darting around to the side of the melee. The enhanced enemies were all well occupied with his brothers, and the regular soldiers were completely focused on supporting their larger counterparts. They seemed to watch them as much out of fear for their own well beings.

The distraction allowed Leon to sprint across the line of battle almost unseen. He zigzagged and spun around enemy combatants stabbing and slicing in quick powerful bursts, dispatching enemies as quickly and efficiently as he could, most with a single strike. It almost looked like a dance. By the time he stopped to turn and see his work almost half of the non enhanced fighters that had remained moments before had been slain by his hand, or rendered useless.

The other members of Mathias and Leon's troop threw themselves at their beastly opponents in groups of four or more. They were all slashing and stabbing ferociously. Blood flew in all directions. After several moments of the chaotic battle one of the brutes was finally brought down by the sheer number of stabbing and slicing wound he had taken.

Another group of the men did not fare nearly as well. The largest of the enhanced made quick work of them, chopping his massive blade through two or three of Mathias' men at a time. This had begun as a battle that should have been an easy decisive victory. It had somehow become a hellish struggle to even survive. Mathias was well aware that things truly could go either way.

It was time for a change up, "Leon, hit the big ones!" Mathias called out, it was what Leon had been waiting to hear. He sprinted up to one of the groups of his compatriots that had surrounded one of the behemoth soldiers. They were keeping him at a distance, stabbing and slicing as he tried to advance, he was slightly smaller than the others, just a bit less willing to sacrifice himself. There were bout seven of Mathias's men in all surrounding him.

Leon got to work right away. He drew a second sword from a hilt at his hip, and leaped at the massive foe. The Goliath-like figure swung his blade, intending to cut Leon in two, but with one blade Leon powerfully, and surprisingly, deflected. He rolled around in the air, turning the enemy;s force into a spin to keep himself from being knocked back. With the sword in his other hand he uses the momentum of his roll to stab into his enemy and run his blade all the way through,stabbing straight into the bestial man's massive chest and out the other side.

The Muslim commander, who had been until now lazily watching the conflict with an air of smug self assurance, showed visible shock, gasping first at Leon's deflection, then even more at the impalement. His mouth was agape as his gaze shot to Mathias. He appeared unable to believe what he was seeing. Mathias glared back with arrogance all his own, a coy smirk upon his face. He was frequently thankful for Leon, both on the battle field and off.

After another two of the enhanced fell in similar fashion, the enraged and embarrassed Muslim leader reluctantly called for retreat. He and his soldiers fled back towards the other side of the field, where their countrymen held control.

Mathias sent a small band to follow behind, attacking them as much as they could as the enemy fled. At the end of the fight Mathias' men stood victorious, but battered. They had lost a staggering fourteen fighters in a single conflict. It was the worst numbers they had seen in this entire holy campaign.

The men were greatly shaken by the loss, but Mathias, while shaken rather deeply himself, was concerned with something entirely different than the loss of his subordinates. He knew what he had seen in that conflict to be dark magic. It was the first time he had seen anything like it in the field since the incident with the Barten and the armor back in the forests of his homeland. He ordered everyone to return to base camp, so that they could rest, and so that he could plan his next course of action.

He wondered if this could be what the dark entity had been warning him about. Was there to be more to come? Mathias had come to walk dark paths comfortably, but he had until now never come across any others walking that same path, not like this. This was well beyond the work of some back wood conjurer. Someone dark and powerful aided their enemies, and Mathias was determined to find out who it was. The answer would come much sooner than even he anticipated.


	9. Chapter 9: Vulgar Displays

**Chapter 9: Vulgar Displays.**

Mathias's mind often slipped back to Elisabetha, especially during his most trying of times. Perhaps it was the goodness that remained in his soul desperately attempting to pull him away from the abyss he inched ever closer to. He replayed their last meeting in his head over and over.

Several months earlier she had come to visit him a few miles in from the front, in a small tavern in one of the christian villages him and his men had secured several weeks earlier. He remembered seeing her from afar, she had been waiting for him in their temporary quarters. She was standing in the doorway when he arrived. A feeling of pure jubilation flooded over him, a stark contrast to the feelings he now waded through.

It had been the better part of a year since they had seen each other. Half the time Mathias had promised her, and they were far from half finished. He was worried that she would be disappointed. If she was she gave no indication. As always her initial reaction was nothing but concern over his new scars, both the ones she saw on his face, and those she felt in his heart.

When he finally convinced her that he was alright, after what seemed like days of debate, she showered him in affection and love. Everything melted away, the war, the darkness, every woe of his past and present ceased to exist. The world was bliss. Two souls that charged one another. Mathias knew that regardless of what he was forced to go through, it would be worth it to have a life her at the end of it. He knew that God would reward him for his struggles and sacrifice.

Leon came and sat next to Mathias. All the rest of the company were sitting together in small clusters strewn across an old semi ruined church they currently called home. They drank ale and warming themselves around makeshift bonfires. The local merchants and women were all too happy to give them as much attention as they craved. Outside the church, stacked morbidly in a putrid pile laid the dead. It was a jumble Mathias's men lost in the conflict, other local troops lost that day, and the sick and elderly from the village's local population.

"What was that Mathias?" Leon broke Mathias from his thoughts as he handed him half of a loaf of bread.

Mathias paused for a moment, staring at the bread, "I'm not sure." He held out his hand and shook his head, refusing the food.

"It was..." Leon struggled to think of the right word to define it but Mathias found it for him, quickly cutting in.

"Unnatural." Mathias spoke with authority. He turned to Leon, "We have dealt with the unnatural before, both of us."

"Do you think this is the same as before?" Leon was clearly very troubled, "Is there someone powering these heretics?" Leon's question broke Mathias from his shocked stupor completely.

He stood and turned to Leon, "There must be."

"Then we find them and take them out." Leon said matter of factually while standing up as well, "It says much about our mission and our enemy that they must resort to such dark methods to stand against us."

The assertion caused Mathias to look away with shame at his own secrets, "Fighting..." He paused again momentarily, "Fighting is about winning Leon. In war, whatever is done to achieve victory is justified."

Leon stared at Mathias, who refused to look back at him. After a moment Leon questioned, "You can't really believe that can you Mathias."

Mathias did not turn his gaze, did not move an inch, "I do."

"To resort to such darkness... I would assume it makes one unworthy of victory." Leon's words rang in Mathias's ears, and again goodness pulled at him, but all he could feel was dread. He knew this matter was not over. He said nothing in response, the swirl of thoughts and anxiety in his mind rendered him speechless.

Leon continued, "It's like winning at Hnefatafl by cheating."

Mathias latched onto the idea and tried to end the conversations, "I beat you many times in Hnefatafl through cheating." The world had a part for Mathias to play and the events around him would see that he played it.

Suddenly there was a terrible cry as one of Mathias's men screamed out in surprise. Everyone jumped, but then the man started laughing in delight, "Jesus! Mortimer!" He was facing the doorway where his friends familiar frame stood, "We thought you were dead!" The drunken soldiers all leaped to their feet. Some were hearty with excitement at the sight, ready to invite their fallen comrade to join in the celebration Others put their hands on their blades, as fear coursed hot through their veins.

At the sight of what was transpiring Mathias was instantly on his feet. His eyes were wide, he fell sharply into the hand on his blade group of the men. The drunken soldier who had cried out looked up and down questioningly at the battered and blood covered armor of his recently returned friend. He squinted in the shadow at the obscured wounds, his face twisted in confusion. Behind Mortimer were other men coming to enter the church, all of them possessing various signs of death. The knight cried out in horror. "My god! Look at them!"

In a flash of lightning Mortimer and the others were exposed. Their faces were contorted into a terrible exaggeration of anger, eyes white with mucus, teeth sharp and rotten, their jaws extended down much further than humanly possibly and long pointed tongues reached out dripping with vile green saliva. Their hands had become clawed and extended.

Mortimer screamed out in a terrible high pitched piercing shriek as he literally flew across the room at the knight who had once been his comrade. He landed atop the man and his clawed fingers squeezed around his throat until they tore through the skin and he ripped out his confused former friend's throat.

The other recently dead now pouring in the doorway had all taken on similar horrifyingly distorted looks and behavior. Mathias's knights jumped into combat readiness, reacting far better then would have been expected. Thanks in no small part to the ways in which Mathias had supernaturally enhanced them. Their hardened courage, and quickened wits allowed them to stumble into the situation and still hold their own, but this was no enemy they had trained for.

The being that had been Mortimer was quickly run through as a plethora of blades came stabbing into the disfigured corpse. It fell limp to the ground. Without any time for a reaction the men were already charging for the others that had entered. Whatever these deadites were, they seemed to be the possessed by demons.

Leon stood ready, but Mathias called him back. "Come with me now Leon, we must fly."

"We can't abandon our comrades!" Leon protested.

"We are not, we are saving them." Mathias turned to his fighting men, as Mortimer's corpse rose again. It seemed only to have been feigning death until it had a better vantage point of attack. It latched onto another knight's back, clawing its fingers into his body, teeth into his neck.

"You must dismember them! Chop them to pieces!" Mathias called out, and with that he turned to Leon and signaled for the two of them to flee.

Leon paused, frozen in place. Mathias had no time for it, "Now Leon!" He called out, and the two of them were off.

Leon questioned Mathias desperately, "Where are we going? What are we doing? How are we helping them?" But Mathias remained silent as he charged onward. When they got to Mathias's private tent he ordered Leon to remain outside, guarding the door. Leon did as he was told.

Mathias entered his private quarters and quickly pulled the old, somehow still soggy, trunk he had received so many years earlier. He quickly threw it open and rummaged around inside, finally pulling out two smaller books and several of the small trinkets and substances. Much of what he retrieved had not part of the original package, but had been added from various sources, including the materials of Barten's conjurer.

He opened the books and laid them down on the bed. He arranged the trinkets and substances and hummed a strange hymn whilst performing a quick and simple ritual. By the time he had finished the room was acrid with a strange smoke, and Mathias's eyes were blood shot, veins bulging. He stormed out of the tent to find Leon hacking into an attacking deadite, it too had once been one of Mathias's loyal company. After both arms, a leg, and its head had been separated it stopped fighting.

Mathias did not react to the chaos, not visibly. He gave his orders as calmly and as calculated as he always had, "Quickly Leon, we must go."

Leon ripped his blade from the cold undead body and followed behind Mathias. "What are we doing Mathias?!" Leon finally shouted while grabbing Mathias's arm and pulling him around. Leon was taken aback at Mathias' appearance and scent. He could smell the strange odor, he could see the crimson in his eyes, "What in hell is happening here?"

"You must trust me Leon." Mathias removed Leon's hand in the least aggressive manner he could muster, "We go now to put an end to this. I know where our target is." Mathias said his part and instantly turned back around, continuing towards their makeshift stables.

As they arrived another two deadites emerged to attack them. Mathias merely moved out of the way while Leon leaped forward intellectually, and like an animal he made quick work of them. He took good care to slice them into as many pieces as possible, per Mathias's previous command, it seemed to be working well.

Inside two other knights awaited, holding their positions and guarding the four horses housed within the stable. A few deadites laid in pieces all around. Mathias motioned to all of them to mount up and head out. None questioned him, all obeyed.

They burst from the stables to a scene of utter horror. The local villagers, already accustomed to war and chaos, were under full fledged attack by the unholy army comprised of the mangled corpses of their freshly dead loved ones. Mathias's men, no doubt thanks to his enhancements, held off the horde astonishingly well. There was no victory here, but nor as it complete slaughter. The quantity of the blasphemous abominations made it impossible for the knights to do much for the defense of the villagers.

Leon called to Mathias, "How long is this going to take?"

"It's at least an hour's ride, maybe more." Mathias responded flatly.

"An hour!? They'll all be dead by then!" Leon was not satisfied with the answer, not at all.

"It's either an hour's ride or we wait for this spell to run its course." Mathias did not appreciate the protest, "An hour's ride and we can put an end to this."

"How can you know that Mathias?" Leon replied, not considering at all how his reactions might undermine Mathias's authority.

"Commander, when on the field Sir. Belmont. Now silence. We ride to end this." Leon was a little stunned by the authoritative outburst. Mathias could not tell him how he knew what he knew, how could he? How could he tell his brother that the limited knowledge of such things Mathias has learned had given him the ability to see, or feel, or somehow determine where the source of a powerful spell was, at least while the spell was still active. A full on summoning of Candarian demons would more than suffice. Furthermore there was no time.

In just under eighty minutes the small group had arrived at their destination which had remained unknown to all but one of them. Eighty audibly silent, but psychologically overpowering, minutes. They came to a deep, old, craggy cave that opened up into a low formation of rocky quarries.

Around the rim of the cave were strange symbols carved into the rocks. Impaled skeletons, and fresher corpses that still held onto rotting flesh were scattered about near the terrifying entrance. There were remains of both humans and animals. It was clearly a warning for civilized people not to enter, for Christians not to enter.

Mathias ordered one of the knights to stay and guard the entrance and to alert them should any enemy soldiers arrive. Mathias had reason to believe that where they stood was important territory. The three of them entered the cave with Leon and the other knight a foot or so behind Mathias. All of them had their weapons drawn and were prepared for immediate combat, though they were unsure of what it was they would be fighting.

The cave was naturally made, an old hold going down into the earth with little to distinguish the fact that it was used at all by people. It was barely lit by far dispersed torches that led the way deep inside. They continued down as the cave became slightly more worked, like long hall, until reaching a larger circular area nestled far within the rock.

This large area was made up into something of a cabin, or some type of living quarters. It was complete with furniture, a cauldron hung up over a small fire, shelves of strange potions and powders lining the walls, small cages containing strange creatures both living and dead. It sprouted off into several other dark tunnels that led out in various directions, but the troop's target was visibly seated in the center of the makeshift home, next to the cauldron, seated with her back to the men. There was an old haggish woman tending the cauldron and the fire around it.

The trio crept inward slowly, all striving to make as little noise as possible. Both men shot silent gazes to Mathias, who gave some how even more silent commands. The witch seemed to take no notice of them, likely due to the combination of their stealth, her concentration on her current spell, and her considerable feebleness.

Suddenly from one of the shelves that lined the cave walls there was a small crash and a clatter, as if something were skimpering away. The men flinched, the already considerable tension proving taxing. They were just able to make out a small, leathery, humanoid creature with what looked like wings on its back, and a long thin spaded tail The tail being the only thing they got a clear look at.

While the men were looking away from her the woman started to speak, "Just my companion." They all turned back to her, her back was still to them. Next to the cauldron, on a small crude table, was etched some type of archaic ritual. There were symbols, bones, strange plants, what appeared to be fresh digits and organs, all laid out carefully. She tossed a finger into the brew. "Wondered when you'd come." Their language sounded foreign in her mouth.

"You attacked us." Mathias replied with a calm and demanding tone. He had control of himself, but projected strong displeasure.

"Wondered a'fore that." She spat into the cauldron.

"You need to call off the Candarian demons you have brought down onto our encampment. Right this instant, or we will kill you." Mathias did not show a single sign of being intimidated by all the weirdness of the situation, his comrades did not appear quite as bold.

The witch turned and looked up at Mathias. She was a hideous site to behold. She could easily be mistaken for a fairly rotten corpse had she been sitting still. Her lips were retracted, revealing skeletal where present teeth, rotten dark gums, sunken dark eyes, a mostly diminished nose, skin wrinkled and aged where not giving way to bone. The men both did all they could to hold their resolve. Mathias did not falter.

"Whyn't ye ask'm yerself?" She half yelled it out, before giggling to herself. She bowed and added "Father Cronqvist!" She mocked the station of priest, picked at Mathias's secrets. He was not pleased.

Mathias turned to Leon. "Are you ready Leon?" Leon nodded, confirming.

"Yer like me." The witch near barked out. "Ye will be." She tossed an organ into her sick brew, turned her gaze back to Mathias. "Can see yer..." The witch's eyes bulged as she tried to look into Mathias, then they began to smolder like hot coals as she tried to speak. No words would come and in a flash she gasped and fell to the floor. She screeched out almost like an animal.

Apparently in response to the screech the small demon, what Mathias knew to be called a Qareen, lunged out at the knights, growing two or thee times in size as it did. Luckily for them it was still smaller than a man. Now more visible, the men could see it was a horrid little twisted semi-fawn like demon.

Leon slashed at the creature mid-flight with his broad sword, parting it in two. The two halves slapped against the ground in a bloody splatter, but rather than dying the two halves quickly shifted and morphed into two smaller but complete versions of the original Qareen.

Leon struck at one of them and again it was easily cut into two asymmetrical pieces. The other knight did the same. The continuity of the effect become apparent to the three very quickly. Every time they chopped a piece off it would grow into a new small version of the demon. By the time they stopped there were seven of them, all much smaller.

They charged at the knights attempting to swarm them. Leon quickly kicked one of them into the small but hot fire burning under the cauldron. Mathias stomped one of the smaller ones into a mush.

The third knight of the company was about to employ his own attempt at dispatching the creatures when the witch grabbed him from behind and regurgitated an acidic bile down the back of his neck. It easily poured through openings and into his armor. It singed and blistered his skin wherever it touched. He cried out and fell to his knees, but Leon and Mathias were occupied with the Qareens and could do little to help him.

The witch grabbed the cauldron with her bare hands, which crackled and popped horribly as they literally cooked. She tossed the contents of the still boiling pot onto the kneeling knight. It seeped into his armor and boiled his skin, so hot that it melted off the muscle smeared against his armor. His screams were horrible, and momentary as the anatomy necessary to produce them was destroyed.

The knight fell to the ground. Mathias moved quickly towards his fallen soldier and the witch, but before he could reach them she drew a long, slimy, flame-like, kris dagger and stabbed it into the surely dead soldier's back, burying the entirety of the blade into him. The man's body began to spasm and seize violently as the woman started chanting some fowl, scratchy incantation in a language distinct from that commonly used by the Muslims.

As Mathias and Leon made it to their fallen companion, still in the process of being swarmed by the small troop of Qareen, the fallen knight's corpse erupted into flame. Simultaneously his body twisted and broke into a horrific demonic abomination.

Mathias bellowed with rage, "Call this off!"

The woman laughed, "Don't worry boy! Y'll get here! Here'n more!"

Mathias turned to Leon. Both of them were still swatting off the Qareens, doing their best not to make more of them. Mathias pointed to his inflamed and possessed comrade, "Leon kill that thing!"

Immediately after giving the order Mathias turned and marched to the witch. As he grabbed her Leon lunged at his Ifrit-possessed comrade. It was now fully formed, a flaming demonic bull silhouette made of broken flesh and bone, like a black shadow demon surrounded by flames. Leon was knocked back by the force of the heat as the demon erupted into an even greater flame. Large wings of fire flapped up and extending from its back.

Mathias took the witch by the throat. Simultaneously he pulled his long thin dagger from his belt, and in an instantaneous motion he had the woman face to face with him, nose to nose, in an iron grip. The point of his dagger was pressed into the soft spot just below her neck, a favored execution point for the young crusader. "Call this off, this instant, and you might live."

Leon was up quickly, batting away swarming Qareens. In his pseudo panicked battle stupor he foolishly slashed at them. Luckily many of them had already been charred to death by the Ifrit's display, though several remained. Leon decided to focus on the bigger threat and charged the flame demon full on, taking his blade in both hands and slashing at it with all his might.

The sword's blows landed, striking the creature like an axe against burning logs. Flecks of charred wood and ash flew off under the force. His former comrade was now so engulfed in flame that none of his actual flesh was visible, it was as if he had skin of fire pouring over an obscured form bent into the shape of a bullish demon. It returned the attack, slashing at Leon with jagged, burned, bone claws, but Leon was just able to dodge thanks to his almost super-human agility.

"Now woman! I will not play your game any longer!" Mathias screamed at the witch.

"Why d'ya play at all?" She grinned her sick toothless grin. "Ye want t'know how I did't." She laughed. "Y'will, dun'ya worry."

With tiny demonic imps climbing Leon's legs, and a flaming behemoth slashing at him ferociously, Mathias could stall no longer. With the slightest application of pressure the long thin dagger pressed through the woman's soft flesh all the way to its handle. Her mouth opened in a gasp, and Mathias snatched her tongue in his fingers. He pulled out the blade, and as the witch fell back he sliced off her tongue, keeping it grasped tightly in his hand.

As her heart emptied and stopped beating the demonic horde slowly faded from the human plain until they were no longer visible, a haunting, inhuman moan permeating the air until several moments after they vanished. Mathias stood perfectly still, grasping the tongue tightly, closed away in his hand.

His eyes scanned all about, books, scrolls... many of them. Strange arcane objects and materials. Some of it was similar to things he already possessed, some incredibly different, as alien as the contents of the trunk had been once. It was a treasure trove.

Leon was panting, he fell to one knee, completely winded, shocked, and at least a little bit terrified. While this had been far from his first encounter with the supernatural, it had undoubtedly been his most intense. Before he could say anything, or catch his breath even, Mathias gave him an order.

"Go back to the cave entrance, tell Gerald to return to the others, and send a large carriage back here at once, with four men." Mathias gave the order almost as if nothing had happened. The only small difference in his cadence was that it was slightly more calm and controlled than usual.

Leon stared down at his charred away comrade, the blacked bone and ash that remained, then back up to Mathias, "Do you think those things back in the town have gone away now as well?"

Mathias almost let out an 'I'm sure of it', but stopped himself mentally. "Yes." It was all he could get out, all he would allow out. His heart was pounding,. He felt every nerve in his body pulsating. He was exhilarated. Adrenaline pumped through his veins so powerfully that he could barely keep from trembling out of control.

"Go now Leon." He gave the order with a tone of absolution, there was no room for protest, and Leon followed it.

Mathias just stood their in the room, motionless but scanning. He did not know where to start. He had just for the first time usurped another sorcerer's lair, their knowledge. He had stricken the old witch down and claimed her magic. It was all the knowledge of a lifetime or more, taken in minutes. He knew that the information in this room could potentially more than double that which he had already learned. He felt powerful. He felt the way he had always imagined his father had felt, especially on that fateful night. He felt almost like a god.


	10. Chapter 10: Against the Wall

**Chapter 10: Against the Wall**

Mathias' make-shift room was just barely lit by two candles arranged at its center. All across the floor, spread about almost randomly, were familiar but not identical arcane circles painted and etched. Open books and strange objects were quite purposely placed around them. This time there were little urns placed in the four corners of the room, all of them held smoldering incenses and herbs, a different mixture in each. It cast a white-gray haze over the already heavy darkness.

Mathias stood near the center of the room, on the north side of the largest of the glyph-filled circles, which contained more of the symbols than any of the others. In front of him was the strange clear-white crystal he had received in the trunk at the monastery many years prior. Blood was already smeared across floor around it, Mathias's own.

Mathias spoke, this time in ancient Latin, "Veni ergo fructum Lilim" The boards of the floor creaked, and the stone of the walls groaned subtly. Something suddenly twisted out of the darkness on the south side of the central circle. It materialized out of the shadow in a bizarre motion that approximated curling flesh. It was a horrid pale form, a frail, satanic-like demon.

It was naked, with a yellow hued white skin, hoofed feet, and long thin claws protruding from its long gnarled fingers. Atop its shoulders sat a terrible horned head, with protruding blank white eyes, and a skeletal nose. It mimicked a look of advanced decay, but in truth had never lived nor died. It had withered, almost vestigial vile versions of female breasts and genitalia.

Mathias spoke at it stoically, his words brimming with anger and authority, "Strenuus de Gant in deliciis lapidis."

It snarled and hissed, then in a high pitched whisper it growl out it's words, "Quid tibia cum Mercedes?"

This demon was of a completely different type, of a completely different plane, than any that Mathias had dealt with previously. It was more in direct confrontation with the God he meant to serve, but he had been left with little choice. He replied sternly, almost angrily. "Animus." He paused, "Multas."

The creature moved as if it were unaccustomed to how such things functioned in our world. It was all small, quick, jerking motions that yanked its body around in frightening, sudden motion. It was akin to an early stop motion animation, unnatural, choppy, somehow off. In one such movement its head jerked and place the dead blank gaze directly into Mathias' eyes. It spoke in that same terrible high pitched whispering growl. The tone clearly questioned, "Innocentum?"

Mathias breathed deeply, a combination of and anger, fear, desperation burned in his chest and drove him forward. The fear most powerful of all, but it was not fear of this thing, nor fear for himself. He answered, "Etiam."

The creature's face twisted, the edges of its mouth arched up slowly, baring a messy jumbled of long jagged teeth. It was a mockery of a smile. The next question came out louder, in a deep growl, "Quid ch movet?"

Mathias did not reply immediately, his face grew harder still. The dealings he found himself in now were much more complicated than those he had made previously. He knew that they may extract a heavier toll as well. His mind went back to the events of the previous day, to the reason he was here now.

Mathias stood inside his room, it was still daytime and the light spilled in through the semi-boarded window. They were making camp in a small village a few miles from the front. They had made good progress through the previous weeks. Largely thanks to Mathias and by extension his men, their mission in the holy land had been gaining surprising leads. With the glaring exception of one city, Antioch, which had sat under siege for months to no avail.

He stood in front of a small dresser that had been reclaimed from one of the ruined homes in the small village. The room also had a small bed and desk, far less luxurious than some of the encampments he had been in recently, but familiar. It was strikingly similar to his childhood room back at the Monastery, a place that seemed a lifetime ago to him now.

On top of the desk and spilling onto the bed were several open books, some that had been in his possession since he received the trunk so many years ago. Some of them had come from what little Barten's conjurer had with him the day he was slain. Others still had been plundered from the witch's lair he had recently taken. It was a rapidly expanding collection that was on its way towards becoming among the grandest of its type on the world.

"Lord Cronqvist!" A call came from outside the tent. It was not wholly urgent, but held a strange sense of importance. It rang with the seeking of permission, somehow Mathias knew it was not to be good news.

"Enter." He called in response after collecting and covering the books with a large table cloth. As the soldier entered the tent Mathias turned around, he saw that it was one of the escorts he had sent back with Elisabetha, to see her safely back home. He was surprised and worried to see the man here now, "I did not expect to see you back so soon. Is everything alright with my wife, with my child?"

The man frowned, his expression was that of fear, of a desire to not give the news that he knew he must. He spoke slowly and stuttered, "I... I am afraid... not sir. Your... your wife... she has... fallen ill sir."

Mathias's eyes widened and he gasped in through his nose, the man continued, "Her symptoms... they began just as we... just as we reached the outskirts of home." He took a deep breath, and collected himself, managing to deliver the rest of the message more steadily, "I made as much haste as I could to relay the information quickly. She requests your presence. You should be able to arrive just around the time of the birth. If you leave soon."

Mathias, a man who had seen things more horrors, both earthly and other worldly, than all but a handful of men in all the history of man, was struck speechless with terror. His chest filled with a heavy burning heat, an abject despair. He just barely could hold himself together, "Thank you Reginald." He managed out after a moment of silent hyperventilation. He was sweating profusely, dizzy almost to the point of stumbling.

He looked up at the messenger, "Leave me please. I must reflect." Reginald seemed worried by the reaction, but followed the order, Mathias pulled himself to his chair and fell into it. He placed as hand over his eyes and inhaled deeply. He knew that he had no time for a proper reaction, nor proper preparation. He would have to come up with a plan on the way.

About an hour later Mathias was on horse back with a small personal guard, riding to meet with his own commanders, the highest ranking members of the Christian military force in the area. Cardinal Randolph was chief among them. He was in charge of all military operations in the area. Mathias was not entirely certain why he had been summoned, but he went with the hopes of requesting a leave of absence so that he may return home to see to his wife and the birth of his child.

After a long ride he came to the highest level headquarters in the area. It was a massive, borderline ancient church, the name of which Mathias did not even know. It had long since passed its prime, many old thick vines still clung to it. The circumstances of the day marked it with one last great responsibility. It stood tall, mostly intact, fearlessly among the ruins of an old town. It was heavily guarded. There were at least a dozen soldiers visible just in front of it, and at least twice as many visible scattered out in all directions.

Mathias dismounted and was quickly welcomed through the perimeter. One of the soldiers took his horse and escort and led them to the nearby stable. Mathias's reputation was well known to Christendom in the area, the soldiers all stared at him with a combination of admiration and fear. He looked back at them and could see the reaction. Under normal circumstances it would have been something he enjoyed.

He entered through the large doors into the wide, open main hall of the church. Priests, generals stood at the far end, near the alter, all standing around a podium, the Cardinal at the front, discussing strategy. They turned as they noticed Mathias enter. The Cardinal nodded at the others and said something that Mathias could not quite hear. All but the Cardinal and two others left the room. The three that remained were the most well dressed, clearly of the highest titles.

When Mathias came up to the podium they all stood down at what was upon it, it was a small map of the local area. The map was focused squarely on the city of Antioch, the largest urban center the Muslims had in the immediate area. It had plagued their forces for months. The soldiers could not break through its defenses of thick trenches and walls, and the near constant stream of reinforcements. It remained besieged.

"Welcome, Mr. Cronqvist." Cardinal Randolph said as Mathias walked up to the podium. The others bowed in respect.

"Thank you, Your Eminence. It is my honor to be here." Mathias bowed as well. He was devoid of his usual edge, exceptionally eager to fall into the Cardinal's good graces, already beginning to worry that the reason for his being their would conflict with what he knew he needed to do.

"Gentlemen," The Cardinal turned to the other two men, "This is Baron Mathias Cronqvist." He looked back at Mathias, "He is probably the primary reason our forces have not fallen to the satanic barbarians." The two men bowed, and Cardinal Randolph continued, You have done very well for yourself and your company Baron Cronqsist."

Mathias''s normal pride was nowhere to be seen, he did his best to approximate it, "Thank you, Your Eminence. Myself, and I assure you my company, appreciate the compliment greatly."

"It is very well earned, son." He turned back to the remaining two men, "This is Count Sebastian Lionel, and Duke Bernard Rhamsey. They have been heading up one of our many larger scale operations in the area."

"You have proven quite an impressive tactician." The Duke unsurprisingly spoke first "And this Lion I have heard of? He fights in your ranks does he not?"

"Leon, yes, Baron Leon Belmont." Mathias was just able to disguise how troubled he was, "We are actually very old friends, closer to brothers really."

The Duke laughed, as did his Count, who then added in, "I have heard sending him into combat is like loosing a lion on the heathens."

The Cardinal brought them back to the issue at hand, "We have called you here Mathias exactly because of your reputation as a tactician, a planner as well as a leader."

Mathias leaned over a little closer in order to better see the map. He knew that it had already been a months long siege, and that leadership in Rome was growing increasingly impatient about it. As always, he had a plan, a plan to steer him through and take him to his goal, "Yes , thank you, Your Eminence. I am happy to serve you however I can."

The Cardinal smiled, "I think you may already have an idea of why he have asked you here today." He turned to the map, "I assume you already know a little about the situation at Antioch?"

"I do." Mathias replied, "I know it is a large Muslim city that we have been set to capture for many months, to no avail. Though I have never gotten a good look into the city's design nor its defenses."

The Duke interrupted, "Well now you have got both. We have been led to believe that you are capable of great things Master Cronqvist. As your surname suggests."

Mathias's heart pounded harder. He had already been heavily stressed by the news of Elisabetha, the predicament of trying to get to her, and now added to that this Duke's apparent knowledge of the Cronqvist family. That could mean many thing. He continued to stare down at the map trying to keep his gaze from giving away the true state of his mind. He finally spoke, whilst simultaneously planning carefully in his head, "You wish for my counsel? I will happily write up a plan of action. Sieges... Sieges are all about stable repetition, consistent, unwavering pressure."

"Actually Mathias," The Cardinal spoke now with a different tone, a proud air of authority and graciousness, as if he were presenting Mathias with some kind of prestigious award, "We have something much bigger in mind for you." He was grinning ear to ear.

Mathias's heart sank. He knew what the Cardinal was about to say. It was something that mere hours earlier would have been counted among the best news of his life, but now something he would have to cleverly deflect.

"We want you to lead the siege, my child. Officially." The Cardinal beamed with pride, "You would command a force much larger than any you have before, a force numbering in the thousands." He paused for a moment to let Mathias take it in, "It is a crucial step towards becoming a Count."

Mathias's gaze stayed completely focused on the map, he did not say anything. It was a surprising reaction to say the least. After a few moments he replied, "I am sure that I can solve whatever problems you are having." It was an inexact response, he needed more time. Mathias's surprising lack of enthusiasm was at least temporarily chalked up to his storied hard demeanor.

"The problem is simple." Said Count Lionel, "Every time we get a good foot hold in, another relieving force arrives, and loses us all of our progress."

"And these are the defenses?" Mathias pointed down to scribbled walls and ditches sprawled across the map in front of the city.

"Yes." The Count continued, "The ditches are death traps, we have tried to scale the walls with ladders but the pits impede us. And the men inside are well prepared for us."

"Alright." Mathias put his hand on his chin and stared off into nothing, his mind was churning at its highest level, "It is a siege, so the principals are fairly simple, merely scaled for the circumstances." He looked up at the three men, "You must merely decide what is more important to you, time or men? Either push through with a larger force, sacrificing more to break through, or keep on mostly as you are, and wait them out."

"Baron Cronqvist..." The Cardinal spoke with a hint of concern in his voice, "You speak as if you will not be present. This is to be your siege to lead." He shook his head, "I assumed you would be quite excited by the prospect."

Mathias looked up at the Cardinal for a moment, the sorrow of his situation almost breaking out from behind the facade of his face. He then quickly glanced back down at the map as if he were thinking about it. In truth his mind was focused solely on Elisabetha, and getting back to her, "I appreciate greatly this honor, Your Eminence."

He looked up at Cardinal Randolph, "But I... I do not believe my presence in this conflict is necessary, nor that it would help any more than would my simple advice and a thoroughly written battle plan, which I can easily provide tonight. I just..." He paused for a short moment, they were all taken aback by his apparent refusal, "I was hoping for permission to take a brief leave of absence. My wife is with child, and apparently has fallen rather ill. She waits for me. She needs me."

There was a long tense silence where no one seemed to want to take up the conversation. It was finally the Cardinal that replied, "Baron Cronqvist... I understand your situation, I truthfully do..."

Before he could continue Mathias cut him off, "Please, Your Eminence. I... I..." Mathias was a man who rarely if ever fumbled his words. This was a type of terror and desperation that he had never known before, "I have to go to her. She is so vulnerable without me."

"Master Cronqvist..." The Cardinal dropped Mathias's title and spoke to him, while still with a caring and soft tone, like a much lower man, "I am sorry. We are all of us making sacrifices for our glorious purpose, for our glorious lord, God."

Mathias exhaled quickly with exasperation, he spoke frantic and bordered on anger "I have done and given as much as any other in all of this holy army. All in the service of the church, of God. I have never wavered, never failed." He took a deep breath, and calmed himself, at least externally, "Can you not grant me this one mercy?"

The Cardinal had grown increasingly less patient with the protest, "If you need to go so badly than I advise you to handle the situation quickly. There will be no further discussion on this."

Mathias knew that any further protest would be useless, that it may even in fact worsen his situation. If he could not change the Cardinals mind he may at least be able to pry some favor and resources out of him, "What kind of increase in numbers can I expect to receive?"

The Cardinal had already turned to discuss something with the Duke. He turned back to Mathias with a slight look of disgust, all air of respect and cordiality gone, "None. In fact you must find a way to make do with fewer." With the quick flippant response the Cardinal turned back to his conversation. Mathias stood there for a moment in a state akin to shock. After a brief time to gather himself he exited the church.

Mathias left the building and stomped angrily back out to where the guards were keeping his horse and his men. He took the reigns of his horse more harshly than he normally would. His men could not help but notice their commander's state. The ride back was filled with deep thought and a quiet rage. Mathias had to get back to Elisabetha, and he was sure that there was a way, somewhere buried in his new wealth of knowledge.

It had not taken him long to do so. A similar incantation, slightly different runes and glyphs, a different entity to deal with, but he managed it quickly. He now stood in the middle of the ritual necessary to carry out his plans. The shriveled demon in front of him repeated its words, barking them out this time as if annoyed by Mathias's pause, "Quid ch movet?"

Mathias looked back up at the demon, at its putrid, white, bulging, over-sized eyes. From a biological standpoint they did not even appear to function, reminiscent of the damaged eyes of someone blinded in an accident or the vestigial organs of a creature that had long since fled the light. He answered, "De vecitigal est anima mea."

The demon nodded and again curled its horrid lips into a vulgar smile. Even worse still was the dissonant chocking wheeze that meant to be a laugh. It kneeled down slowly beside the crystal. It placed its thin clawed fingers over it and began to quietly chant in some other unknown ancient language much more antiquarian than Latin. It seemed as if it were praying.

The exchange went on long into the night. More was said, more was traded, more was prayed over. In the morning Mathias would have what he needed to execute his plan, and little more to do in preparation for it. He knew it would work. It would allow him to return home swiftly, and see to Elisabetha's illness and the birth of their child personally. It was worth it, whatever the cost...


	11. Chapter 11: A Road too Far

**Chapter 11: A Road too Far.**

It was just before sunset. The sun shone brightly across the open valley. The city of Antioch sat large and proud against the mountainous horizon. It's large, thick, stone walls and deep piked pits kept it safe from intrusion. The primary attacking force had been called back. It gave the place an eerie quality. Clearly visible defenses, set out against complete nothingness. The attackers' new leader had a different plan of action. He would get inside the city's powerful walls not with armies and swords, but by merely walking up to them, alone, and asking to be let in.

Mathias, covered in a long, dark, hooded cloak, made his way down the long dirt road, alone. He was a solitary speck against the wide orange late afternoon sky. The earthen mountains reflected the orange hue, making them almost indistinguishable. The way was long, but well trodden and safe for the moment.

Mathias pushed a small cart in front of him with some large shrouded object on top of it, the shroud of the same material as the cloak. He pushed the cart down the road towards the city. No army behind him, no personal guard, not even Leon. Mathias intended to do what he had to do by himself. He would not put it on anyone else.

The previous night Mathias had been in a meeting with Duke Rhamsey, Count Lionel, and their personal guard, as well as Mathias's own. He was outlining the plan he had intended for the following evening, the part they were intended to know about at least.

Rhamsey shook his head in disbelief, then looked up at Mathias dumbfoundedly, mouth agape "You want to pull back all of our forces?"

Mathias rubbed his brow, he was clearly quite exasperated, "Listen, sir. I have explained several times already. The siege as it is now would take several more months if not over a year before we would be able to root them out."

"That is unacceptable, the Papacy will not stand for such delay." The Duke was quick to cut in, slow to listen.

"I know!" Mathias bit back, unable to contain his frustration, "That is why I say we pull back, for one month. Gather more men, prepare them, build towers. All the while the defenders of the city shall grow docile and weak." He slammed his fist into his open palm, "And we crush them."

The Duke did not look convinced, nor did the any of the others present. Mathias himself knew that it was no real plan. It was just a vague excuse that used the correct vernacular and made its own seemingly consistent sense. He trusted in their stupidity, and in his oratory ability to sway, "You are weighing one month against possibly a whole year. Are you foolish enough to make such a mistake? Is this not why I was given this position?"

Their attitudes seemed to warm to the idea, the Duke responded, "Must we truly take them all back? Do we need leave no one behind?"

Mathias came up with a response instantaneously, "I need to know the men I lead, all of them. The numbers are necessary to pull off such a swift, strong hit. And the enemy must believe our cause abandoned."

The Duke put his hand to his chin and said nothing for several moments. The tension in the room grew dramatically. Eventually he turned and conversed with the others present, all of them higher in ranking than Mathias himself, half of them without ever having seen combat.

Mathias stared at the gathered royals, but truly stared passed them. Every minute of deliberation was more time that Elisabetha was alone, weak, scared, in danger. It was all he could think about. Even his true plan of action was far from his mind. He had decided, definitively, that this was to be the end of his practices of the occult. If things were to go as planned, victory in the crusade was all but certain. He will have served his purpose, and be free of it. Free of the violence, the darkness, everything. He and Elisabetha, and their child would have a home, a life, peace.

The sun was getting low as Mathias got to the main gates of Antioch. Being a single man it was much easier to get through their defenses and up to the gates. There was a large vertical door that could be slid open and closed. It opened and a pair of guards stood behind it. They spoke to Mathias in Arabic, "*What business have you here traveler?*"

Mathias responded back in Arabic as well, with a perfect accent, "*I have come to negotiate the complete surrender and withdrawal of all Christian armies in the region.*" The guards looked at each other for a moment, then back to Mathias. He stared back silently, his eyes somewhat obscured by the dark hood.

In less than twenty minutes Mathias was deep inside the city, in the office of a mid-ranking city official. It was a surprisingly nice and clean office for a besieged city. It was filled with finely made furniture that matched and was lined with fabric to make it more comfortable. Their was a large desk where the official had a large stack of notes, what appeared to be letters and other types of documents. He also had a bookshelf against the wall filled with holy Islamic texts, as well as ancient Aramaic histories and Philosophies.

The official himself sat at his desk, Mathias stood in the center of the room, on the other side of it. The official was an older man, in his upper fifties at least. He was well dressed, balding, slightly underweight. He seemed paranoid and untrusting. He spoke to Mathias as if he were interrogating him, "*Why should we believe that you speak for the infidels? Just because you are a white man who shows up at our door?*"

Mathias stared at him for a moment, then let down his hood. He had always had a stern regality to him. It could be intimidating, or charming when he wished, but it was unmistakable, "*A white man who shows up alone mere hours after the Christian armies have receded. A white man who speaks perfect Arabic.*" He motioned to the book shelf, "*A white man familiar with 'One Thousand and One Nights' or the **Visions of Amram**" He pronounced the name of the second text in perfect Aramaic, something the official himself would have struggled with.

Mathias leaned down and pulled away the cloth that obscured the cart. A large chest sat upon it, "*A white man bearing such gifts?*" He opened the chest, revealing a bounty of gold coins, gems atop of them, and crowned with the strange crystal.

"* You have my attention.*" The man did not seem relieved, but he could not deny the weight of Mathias's knowledge, decorum, and what he had brought in with him.

Mathias smiled something between a true smile and a smirk, "*We are done here. We can spare no more men. This meager offering is but a gesture of peace and goodwill moving forward.*" Mathias stared at the man and stepped forward, extending his hand, "*You have won.*"

The official hesitated. His paranoia was undoubtedly an invaluable tool for his office, for his duties, acquired through many years of experience. Mathias was telling him everything he wanted to hear, his gut told him to doubt. He looked at Mathias's hand, then met his eyes.

Mathias tried to move things along as swiftly as he could, "*My job is merely to leave this chest with you and go. I ask nothing of you. I require no concessions. I wish only to be swiftly on my way back home.*" The truth at the end made the lie much easier, though it would not have been too difficult for him either way.

The Official sighed, then shook his hand, "*Alright, I will deliver this to Yaghi-Siyan.*"

Mathias bowed, "*Be sure to examine them first. A man such as yourself should not waste the opportunity to validate the beauty and craftsmanship of some of these items.*" The official nodded, and Mathias was shown out.

As he made his way towards the city's exit, each step hit the ground and felt to him as if it shook the earth beneath it. He looked around, the people were about their daily lives. Shopkeepers and craftsmen worked, women roamed the markets, children played together in the streets. Mathias jerked his head back down to look away , hardly able to bear the sight of them. The guilt of it. He thought of Elisabetha, of their unborn child, and he made haste to get out of the city and back to his camp. Within forty eight hours he would be on the road back to his home.

Back in the official's office, he stood before the closed trunk. Mathias had more than succeeded in making the gesture appear legitimate., but something still gave the man pause., gnawed at his insides. He stared at the the chest, without a word or movement, for several minutes. He thought about what Mathias had told him. About rare gems and crystals. He wanted to look at them, but was afraid. He was not sure why.

Before too much time passed he finally pushed himself forward. He opened the treasure chest to again see the pile of gold coins, the precious gems, and the strange white-transparent crystal. The crystal captured his mind much stronger than any of the other items. He had no thought of keeping the gold, or any of it, for himself, even though no one but he had seen it. This was not out of virtue. The crystal at once almost entranced him.

He lifted it up to his face to examine it more closely, as Mathias had suggested. He saw deep within it the same faint red glow that Mathias had upon first retrieving it at the monastery years ago, before the spells that fully activated it. As the official continued to stare into the crystal he could almost swear that he saw a whole world within it, as if it were a window into a vast gulf across time, massive pillars, ancient cities.

After a few more moments in the trance like state the official broke away. Unnerved he threw the crystal back into the chest, but something was different now. He felt the presence of something else, some force of nature completely alien to him, but the room was empty. There was suddenly a crashing in the next room, then a loud thump, and a skittering across the wooden floor.

The official was panting heavily, his heart pounding in his chest. He shuffled slowly towards the door, and then came another banging sound. He jumped back in startled terror, grasping his chest as his heart rate increased still. His hand slowly reached for the door handle, trembling terribly all the way.

Mathias was already outside of the city, it had grown dark. He was making his way down the dirt road that would take him back to his camp, when the official's scream rang out loud enough for him to hear it still. He stopped, there was a cold fire in his stomach, it pulsed up through his chest. He turned to look back at the city. It was the first time since he had made the decision to delve further into the dark arts that he felt even a pang of regret. He said a quick prayer, turned back to the road, and continued on his way.

Slowly more screams began to echo out from the city. It started to rain shortly after. The whole way back, Mathias focused his mind on Elisabetha, and nothing else. There was nothing else in the world that mattered to him at the moment, not himself, not his soul, not Leon, or God. If Elisabetha was alright, than whatever it took to make it so was justified. By the time he arrived back at his camp, it was late into the night, safely out of earshot of the symphony of screams that continued into the night.

By the next morning it had become evident to even the very limited scouts the church still had patrolling the area that something drastic had happened in Antioch. Passerby's had reported screams coming from all over the city, people fleeing through the protective barriers out into the open wilderness, and horrifying inhuman cries that rang like thunder. None of the high flags had been raised. Most harrowing of all was the copious quantities of blood upon the outer walls.

Mathias, being the new leader of the conflict, was among the first to be notified. He quickly gathered up his men, including Leon. It seemed uncharacteristic for many that a leader of such a large force would see to such matters personally, but not to Mathias's men. To them it was merely Mathias being Mathias. If something strange and unexpected were going on he would demand to see it for himself. How else would he best discover how to conquer it?

As they made their way to the city, Leon rode his horse just next to Mathias, slightly behind him on the right. He stared out into the distance. It was well into the daylight hours now, approaching midday. Many of the men were jittery. Mathias's men had seen much more than most, but that also meant they knew the breadth of what it was they may come to encounter when things went strange.

What little information that had already escaped the walls of Antioch filled the men with dread. Some of those newer soldiers, the ones just recently put under Mathias's banner, were just a step or two above the foolish rabble that had for the most part been dealt with. They were the minimum of what one could consider a professional knight. He expected they would flee in terror if anything too unusual were to occur.

Before they made it within view of Antioch, the putrid smell had already been carried out on the winds far into the distance. It was unmistakable, the sick smell of death, and to have travelled so far so fast... It must have been dozens at least. Even Mathias's men started to become shaken when the city became visible. There was something terribly wrong, even to the naked eye at such a distance. It was something felt as much as seen. Combined with the smell it told a story quite easy to understand.

By the time they stepped foot inside the walls, though they were utterly horrified, none of them were truly surprised. The streets of the city were red with dried blood. What remained of the the people was being claimed by vultures, gulls, insects, all manner of scavengers. There had been a massacre. It looked as if it had been utter chaos, people fleeing in every direction, and the wounds did not look like those left by bladed weapons. They much more resembled the aftermath of savage animal attacks.

Mathias, Leon still at his side, investigated the carnage. Leon was horrified, he looked as if he were ill, and had actually thrown up twice already. Mathias was much less obviously affected, but still sullen, filled with a different flavor of horror. The deaths had been even more savage than he had imagined. There were prints on the ground, other than the various human ones. They were large, clawed, three-toed, inhuman prints. Mathias called attention to them right away.

"Loon here Leon." He pointed down to the prints, Leon, and the others, could see them as well, "This is something infernal." He looked up at Leon, "Something like we have seen before."

Leon kneeled down next to it, others peered over his shoulder. Several of the other men in the ranks, those who had not previously served under Mathias were taking the situation particularly badly. Passing out, trembling uncontrollably, they had different reactions to what they perceived as direct confrontation with the devil. The prints were clearly of some monstrous creature unknown to any of them. It was a sobering sight.

They continued deeper into the city, where there were corpses that seemed to be slightly fresher. Upon the wall of an old stone building was a sight that turned the stomachs of the already severely rattled men. About seven feet up, were four three feet long claw marks cutting through the stone a good three inches deep. The men whispered to each other, "What in hell did this?" "Where did it come from?" "Is it still here?"

The trail of increasingly fresh corpses led them close to the center of the city, to the largest Mosque in Antioch. The doors were battered, as if they had been sealed from within and broken through. Mathias continued slowly, investigating, putting together an image of how the events unfolded. To him it was clear that the Mosque was where the remaining people of the city had made their last stand, likely praying desperately to their god the whole time. Their fate was proof enough to Mathias of the untruth of their side in the conflict.

After a time of gathering his thoughts, Mathias turned back to his men. Those who had served with him and Leon throughout the years awaited orders bravely, afraid but ready to serve as commanded. The newcomers surprised Mathias as well, shaken as they were, they continued with the rest straight into the fire, "I believe it is rather obvious what has happened here."

He turned to Leon, "It is something we have seen several times before." He turned back to the others, "The heretics, perhaps unwittingly, petitioned Satan for assistance." Combinations of terror and anger flashed across the men's faces. "Many of you remember the demonic siege of our camp." Rage flashed across Mathias's face as well, he looked up at Leon who had a similar expression, "The satanic witch whose lair we uncovered and burned out."

He turned around and looked up at the battered Mosque doors, "Now it seems they have reached too far into the darkness, and paid the ultimate price." He turned back to his troops, "It is likely whatever horror is responsible for this, was meant for us. And it likely still resides within."

With those last words several of the soldiers recoiled back in horror. Leon however, instinctively stepped forward, his hand moving to his blade. Mathias noticed and nodded at his brother, before continuing, "Who will enter with me? I will not force anyone. You all volunteered to face heathens, not the devil himself."

Surprisingly almost all of Mathias's men stepped forward, and even some of the new ones. He decided on just ten men, besides Leon and himself. As they entered the Mosque, they were greeted with more destruction, more carnage, but here it was displayed. The room was terribly dark, none of the candles or torches lit. Bright white light shined in from the windows and sat upon the floor in long thin strips, but the room was mostly shrouded in shadow.

The creature had purposefully arranged the scene for maximum mockery against the holy sacrament it was meant to represent. The worshipers were spread out upon the floor, in a position reminiscent of that in which they gave prayer each day. The Imam's body was horribly unwound and displayed at the center, as if it were somehow leading the silent prayer of the mutilated dead. All of the religious symbols had been smashed and broken into pieces.

There was a rustling from one of the darker corners of the building. The men all jumped dramatically at the sound of it, weapons drawn, a couple of them even cried out in surprise and fear. Mathias held out his hand, steadying them It was impossible to see at first, but they knew where it was. They moved as a single unit around Mathias at the center, all moving in unison with each slow careful step he took. As they got closer the shuffling intensified, and was quickly followed by a deep throaty roar that echoed out from the dark corner and through the impressive acoustics of the room.

There were more muffled shrieks, more recoiling back towards the door, but as Mathias kept his composure and continued forward, the others managed to shake themselves back into following suit. As they continued towards the creature they could not see, their minds convinced them of the most horrible abominations they could imagine, each one's completely distinct from the others'. When it finally stepped out they gasped, several of them screamed. Even Mathias himself was visibly shaken by its visage.

It had only partially stepped out from the shadows. Even still it's form was clear. It stood, in a hunched gate, at over twelve feet tall. Two twisting, goat-like horns extended from its temples just above long pointed ears. It's face had an extended, slightly fawn-like maw filled with sharp teeth. It appeared to be very dark in color, though it was hard to discern in the already exceedingly dark Mosque. It had patches of long greasy fur on its back, the back of its head, chin, legs, and forearms, large bat-like wings on its back, and a long tail. It was incredibly muscular, more so than would even be possible for a man, and its large hands and feet were marked with long sharp claws.

It roared again, the volume of its cries shook the whole building. Leon sprinted forward three long strides, putting himself closest to it, "Shall I attack Mathias?" Leon shouted, as to be heard over of the beast's cry. The other knights stepped forward as well, readying their weapons in response to the question.

Mathias said nothing, but held his hand out again in the symbol that meant 'hold,' his gaze remained unbroken from the creature. Their eyes were locked. Mathias felt as if he could feel it rubbing its psychological claws through his mind. It knew him, knew what he had done, his hand in all of this. After a quick but incredibly tense moment it snarled out another angry cry, this time slamming the floor with both fists, shaking the whole Mosque so dramatically that several chunks f masonry, as well as the very foundation of the building cracked open. Pieces of the Mosque collapsed to the ground in plumes of dusty smoke, some of them bringing in more sunlight.

Several of the knights toppled over, and the demon came charging at them like a bull. Mathias leaped out of the way, Leon moved into a defensive position, most of the rest were unable to react quickly enough. The creature plowed into four of the men, sending each of them flying through the air and crashing hard into the stone walls. The strength of the blows seemed more than capable of killing them.

As the demon came past Leon, he dove to the side and stabbed forward, placing his sword where his body had been an instant before. The weapon raked across the hard flesh of the creature, unable to strike a deep blow, but slicing a superficial scratch down its side. The remaining knights who had managed to escape the charge were themselves jumping into defensive positions, but they had hardly the skill nor supernatural enhancement that Leon had.

They tried to dodge and attack as the creature came around at them but it proved quicker than they were ready for. One of them blocked a blow with a shield just to be sent flying back into the wall like his comrades. Another twirled around to avoid a similar blow from the beast, and tried to strike, only to be snatched up and slammed violently back into the ground.

Mathias, Leon, and the other four knight who remained on their feet, all huddled together into a formation similar to a phalanx. Leon was out in front, Mathias behind him, the other knights formed a barrier around him. Mathias stared it in the eyes. He alone knew what it was, a Malacoda, a dungeon guard of hell itself. It pressed strongly against his mind, more animal than thinking being. It's mere presence taxed him, but he did have the power to press back, even if only slightly. His dealings with other worldly creatures had already imparted a strength in him.

The Malacoda roared out again, this time a slightly higher pitched cry that rang hard in everyone's ears. It charged, and Leon charged right back at it. Mathias pressed out with all of his will, and just as Leon and the Malacoda met, and Leon struck with all his might, it jerked back, causing it to stumble into one of the newly made rays of light. Leon's blade slashed into its arm and shoulder. Thick, dark, black-red blood sprayed out from the wound, and as the creature fell into the light its flesh singed and it recoiled back into the darkness.

"Everyone out of the building!" Mathias ordered, shouting so any of the injured who may still be alive could hear.

Everyone but Leon took off for the door. Mathias jolted forward and grabbed his brother by the shoulder, "We must run now Leon!" He pulled Leon and the two of them were quickly at a sprint. The Malacoda had already recuperated from the damage and started to stomp after them. Its claws crushed into the stone just behind them as they made their way out the door.

They panted and gasped for breath as both of them folded over with their hands on their knees. The demon did not follow. It snarled and paced inside the structure, visible only through the small dark doorway. After catching his breath Mathias turned to his men, most of them had gotten out, those that had not were almost certainly already dead, or dying, "Raise the Mosque." He ordered, "Burn it, bring it down however you can. The light will kill this thing."

His men complied with his orders, and he was right. The creature was almost dead already before the roof came down. Even the light of the burning fires had greatly harmed it. The entire town had been ravaged by the demon. Men, women, children, even infants. All who escaped the carnage had fled very far from Antioch. They were likely never to return.

Taking the city now was not even a task, it was merely a matter of walking in through the gates, and sitting down in the palace. Most importantly, to all prying eyes it looked as if the heretics had done it all to themselves. A swath of noble, trustworthy witnesses would attest to the demonic infestation of the Mosque, or the previous demonic tactics of their enemies. It was all wrapped up perfectly, at least to the world of man.


	12. Chapter 12: Goodbyes

**Chapter 12: Goodbyes.**

Mathias stood in the room that had been his home the last few weeks. He had grown exceptionally accustomed to leaving one place behind to find another, but this time their was something stronger. Not only was this the last temporary home he was to claim, hopefully for the rest of his days, but there was an essence that lingered in the air. Mathias had committed arcane rituals in all of the rooms that he had resided in for the last several years, but what he had initiated in this room was far more profound, and Mathias knew it. He feared the grounds may be permanently stained. He considered ordering the building burnt down.

A trove of his belongings were packed up near the entrance of the room , clothes, personal effects, and of course his secret texts, which now occupied four trunks unto themselves. He had told himself that he would have no further use for them, but they were certainly not something he could merely leave lying around for someone else to discover. There were certain risks involved in destroying them as well. Mathias opted to keep his books, the record of his occult leanings, in order to keep them safe and locked away from the outside world, or that was at least the justification he had chosen to believe.

He was writing down his final recommendations for the conflict moving forward. The city of Antioch was taken, though it was a significantly less valuable victory given the specifics of its circumstances. Mathias's men were to continue onward, under the command of Count Lionel. Mathias was confident in their ability, and not only because of the supernatural enhancement he had bestowed upon them over several years. They were a world class company, even on their own. Mathias was very proud to have led them. He felt very strongly that he never would again. The days of war were behind him now.

As he was about to leave, he received an exceptionally expected visitor. Leon was to stay, to continue the fight with the rest of his comrades under Count Lionel. It would be the first time Mathias and Leon had been apart since meeting each other in the monastery so many years ago. The two of them stared at each other for an extended moment before Leon broke the silence.

"It will be strange to fight without you, brother." Leon chuckled, a bitter sweet melancholy reaction to the emotion welling in his stomach.

Mathias laughed as well, and nodded, "It will be strange to not be fighting at all." He shook his head, "I have been fighting for so long." He held up his hand and looked at the, "My hands have been so dirtied by war... for so long." Mathias spoke about more than just his martial profession.

Leon could sense something behind the words, but had no idea what it might be, "I hope this Lionel is at least half as good a commander as you, Mathias. He already has a better name." He smiled, if he could sense the underlying darkness of the room and Mathias's circumstances he was intent on ignoring it, and enjoying the last moments he would have with his brother in a very long time. It was a much more important conversation than either of them knew.

Mathias smiled, "He is an imbecile." There was a lump forming in his throat as small tears welled in his eyes, "But I have absolute confidence in you and the men, Leon."

Leon smiled back at him, but then his expression became deadly serious again, "And what if we should come across something... unusual, again? You have been paramount in solving such problems."

"Ha!" Mathias exclaimed, "I merely point and shout." He grinned and bowed at Leon, "I have yet to swing my blade on any actual monster of hell. I believe you are up to six now? Or is it seven?"

Leon laughed even more, "Thank you, sir." Leon said, giving the title with a heavy tone of sarcasm, "I will miss you."

"And I you, brother." Mathias replied, the two of them shared a hearty soldier's handshake, and Leon started out. After a moment Mathias called out to him again, "Leon... wait." There was something more he intended to say.

Leon turned back around slowly, "What is it Mathias?"

"Leon..." Mathias struggled to find the right words, he started to pace, and looked off in another direction "When I first arrived at the Chateau, the monastery, I was completely and utterly alone. And the brothers... the monks, they were wonderful, of course. They treated me well, but I was still so alone." He turned back to Leon, "And then one day you showed up, and I was never alone again."

Leon stared at Mathias, eyes red and welling. He could not get any words to come, for fear of the mournful torrent that may flow with them.

Mathias continued, "Since that time, so long ago. I have come to have many people in my life, people that I love, even eventually those same monks. But it all started with you. You awoke me to the possibility of life again, of family again. I can never repay you for that Leon."

A tear dropped down Leon's face, "You did the same for me brother."

The two stepped towards each other and embraced. Mathias asked, "Shall I give any special message to Sara?"

"No thank you, brother." Leon replied emotionally, "Thanks to you I am able to write her and read the letters she writes back to me. We have been in communication the entirety of this conflict." They parted, "Now you go an take care of your wife and child. I love you, Mathias."

"And I love you, Leon." In less than an hour, Mathias was on the long road back to his home.

Mathias sat in the cab of a considerably high quality coach. It was pulled down the road by two large black horses, with a pair of drivers sat in the front, one resting, the other driving. The idea was to make greater haste by cutting down on the time needed for rest. They would stop only when the horses could pull no more.

Mathias was alone inside of the cabin of the coach. A small oil lamp hung in the corner, giving a dim light that cast the interior in a sense of perpetual sundown. It had been a long time since Mathias had experienced such prolonged calm, and leisure time. His mind had become accustomed to working several problems at once, almost nonstop. Sitting there, with nothing to take the reigns of his mind, nothing but empty waiting as the wheels of the coach continued to roll ever closer to home, Mathias's mind opened to the things he had long succeeded in ignoring.

The magnitude of all that he had done weighed on him for perhaps the first time. It weighed on his mind, but strangely, not so with his heart. He knew that he had done terrible things, profane, sacrilegious things, evil things, but he did not feel them. In his heart rang only the slightest pang of guilt, and only for his most recent foray into the darkness, his most profound.

He felt a paradoxical conflict in his mind, or perhaps his soul. His goal had always been the continued triumph of the one true God, but Mathias had so clearly broken His rules, to a degree few men in history had. He wondered if his ends could truly justify his means. He thought of the children of Antioch, playing in the street, and the small pang grew.

The image of the children in his mind, brought him to think of his own child. The concept still felt so alien to him. A child of his own, it both terrified and exhilarated him. It was possible they would be born already by the time Mathias returned home, but he hoped not. Mathias wanted to be present, to welcome the baby into the world, to see to whatever it was Elisabetha would need. He hoped greatly to alleviate her of her illness beforehand. The act of childbirth was dangerous enough under normal conditions.

The thoughts of Elisabetha cleansed Mathias's mind. She was perhaps the true drive behind his actions, but he convinced himself that it was God. If God had not intended for Mathias to use such means in accomplishing God's own goals, why would he place him on such a path? Everything that had happened since that night in the forest so long ago, and before, and after. The blood to excel at such practices, the tools to accomplish them, bound into the home of the lord, raised into his service. It was providence. It had to be.

The long journey was filled with countless hours of similar contemplation. Mathias's mind was among the keenest in the world, more than capable of justifying itself, absolving him of any crime, at least to himself. With the taking of Antioch, the utter decimation of it, the crusade was essentially won. It had been won by Mathias's own hand. He imagined it was perhaps the single greatest act of devotion to God since Christ allowed the crucifixion. The blasphemous nature of such a thought was lost on him.

As the coach came closer and closer to home, strange happenings and nightmares began to haunt Mathias. One night, a little over halfway through the journey. They had made camp for the night, to allow a respite for the horses. Mathias was sitting on log set by the camp fire. He was lost in his mind as he had been much of the journey.

They were on the side of the same wide road he and his men had marched down on. Then it had been full, lined with thousands of Europe's men, God's men, all of them marching to fight for him. Most of them were rabble, but Mathias's resentment of them had waned, at least while he was in the mood to romanticize his past.

He did not notice exactly when it was that the oddness began. It was subtle, not even immediately out of the ordinary to a direct gaze. One of his drivers stood up to Mathias's right, staring across the fire at the shadows, an expression of utter confusion upon his face. Mathias turned his head, and saw what it was that had startled the man so . There were three of them sitting around that fire, each of them cast a long shadow behind them in the fire light. Across from the startled driver, where there was no one seated, there was another long shadow, as if there were.

The realization slowly set in on Mathias and the other driver. It was such a passive manifestation that it took several moments for the gravity of it to settle. "What the hell is that?" The standing driver finally managed to force out.

The other driver stood up as well and started shouting, "Good lord!"

The shadow was smaller than their own, and it just sat there, mostly still, moving a bit now and then in slow small gestures, as if it were merely lazing by the fire like the rest of them. Mathias alone remained seated, staring coldly into the shadow, completely unafraid. He recognized the shape of it, primarily the horns, which were just barely visible. The fact that this thing had followed him so far was a much more frightening development than Mathias would allow himself to believe.

One of the driver's broke out into spontaneous prayer. The other pleaded with Mathias, "I think it's best we get out of here sir."

Mathias replied without taking his eyes off the shadow for an instant, "Are the horses rested enough to continue?"

The driver looked over at the horses, then back to Mathias, desperation on his face, "I... I do not know, but... we cannot stay here." His trembling hand pointed out to the shadow again.

The other driver, who was slowly backing away from the fire, ceased his prayer, "He is right, sir. We have to get out of here!"

Mathias stood up and stared into the two drivers with that same authoritative, powerful glare that he had so mastered. A moment later he looked back down at the shadow, "Go into the forest, collect more wood for the fire. I will have this handled before you get back."

"But sir..." One of the drivers tried to protest.

Mathias turned to him, "You know me, and my reputation. This will be far from the first hell spawn I have driven out, and even farther from the most harrowing." He pointed out to the tree line, "Now go!" The men were quickly off into the trees, eager to be away from the creature, and away from Mathias as well.

When finally alone at the fire, Mathias's authoritative tone grew stronger in its fury, "Why have you come here?"

He could see the shadow of the head turn to him, he heard the demon's voice as before, but this time a much quieter whisper, "Numquam reliquit me tibi."

Mathias's sense of power over the situation faltered. The demon had never left him, that is what it said. Mathias had overestimated the similarity with his previous dealings with other worldly entities, perhaps there was something he had missed. His natural reaction to fear and doubt was to bury it deep with a mound of pride and power. It was a trait he had inherited from his father, a trait well selected for in his lineage. It was also a trait that his life had almost seemed tailor made to exacerbate.

"Coward." Mathias was angry, "You cannot even truly show yourself?"

He saw the shadow of the demon standing up. It's face blasted across Mathias's mind's eye in drilling, painful bursts. Mathias grabbed his head and almost fell to his knee. "Do not disrespect me, sorcerer." It spoke in Mathias's own language, something he had never heard such an inhuman voice do before. And it called him something he had never once used to describe himself.

It continued in that same horrid groan of a whisper, Mathias was frozen, "I will return below when it is done. But should you bay me leave your presence, I shall respect the wish of such a wise and powerful augurer."

Mathias was trembling, he told himself that it was from rage. He could manage only the single word, "Go!" The shadow instantly vanished. Mathias grabbed his trembling arm and steadied himself, taking deep breaths, and staring deeply into the fire. By the time the drivers returned, he had calmed back to the appearance of normal, but he worried now. The drivers were quite revealed to see the shadow had gone.

After that night, for the most part, the strange occurrences ceased, but Mathias felt uneasy. Very shortly there after, despite what he had sworn to himself before, he again entered into his dark research. He meant to find the means of detecting things around him that his own senses could not, and protection against such things. He refused to be surprised again by the same or any other demon.

More than just detecting and repelling demons, Mathias meant to find what he had done wrong, why the thing had remained with him. He read through his books, notes, and journals, scouring over every detail in the long daytime rides on the road. He could find nothing new, nothing to explain why things had developed as they had. When all other sources were exhausted, he turned to his father's journal. He had long since memorized it's contents, every word up until the last unfinished thought experiment. He even remembered the number of blank pages that followed. But maybe there was something he had not had the right context for before.

To his shock, to his disbelief, to his utter horror and secret elation, there were new notes written into the blank pages following the ritual, notes that absolutely had not been there previously. Mathias's mind raced. Had it been something obscured somehow? Did his father's ghost haunt the journal? Maybe it was that same demon further toying with his mind? There were so many questions, possibilities. Mathias feverishly read through the newly inked words.

It was a myriad of references and connections from the rest of the collection, including books Mathias had not originally received in his father's trunk. It burst open the obsession that Mathias had tried so thoroughly to close, gnawing at him anew with enough questions and research to fill his own series of volumes. The journal had been filled almost completely, leaving only one side of the last page empty. The two pages preceding it contained the missing cipher for at least half of the coded writings that Mathias had failed to unlock.

He closed the book and pressed it into his chest while grimacing and exhaling deeply. Whole new worlds were open to him now. Mathias was already well aware of how information in these realms cascaded into each other into massive discoveries. That cipher alone would lead to coded information, which in turn would provide missing pieces and new perspectives on other teachings, which would continue to transform his understandings of even more still. It was enough to fill his life time and more.

Mathias was uncertain of how he would proceed. Every fiber of his being wanted desperately to throw open his books right then and there and get to work immediately. Then he thought of Elisabetha, and for the tiniest instant of time he wondered if maybe her illness was somehow his doing. The thought was immediately and angrily discarded from his mind.

He opened the journal one more time, flipped to the cipher in the back again. It was a treasure he had desired for years. Suddenly their was a movement on the last page, a pressure coming up from underneath. Mathias quickly turned it over, to the blank side to see what was moving it. To his shock, he witnessed words writing themselves across the page. It stopped after a single sentence.

"Be weary of the jealous God, who may see fit to punish those that find ways around his arbitrary rules."

Mathias slammed the journal closed, and stuffed it back away into the trunk it had spent so much time in already. He looked out the window, and thought of Elisabetha. Thought of her, and their child who may already have been born. He had what he needed in life. Again he told himself that he was done with his dark occult research.

More time passed, and Mathias came closer and closer to his family. One night, very late, when they had made it to just over thirty miles from his home, when the coach slowed, and he heard the driver calling the horses to stop. Then he shouted back to Mathias, "Have to make camp for the night!"

Mathias was more than a little perturbed. He had grown increasingly paranoid ever since the incident with the journal. With every step closer to Elisabetha he got, he grew more nervous. He was eager to be done with it, to be home. He stepped out from the coach and walked around to the driver, who was getting down from his seat, "Must we truly stop now? We are less than a two hours ride from home." He called out to the driver.

"I am sorry sir, but the horses are exhausted, they could muster another five miles at most, and would likely die in the effort." He jumped down and hit the ground with a grunt, then turned to look at Mathias, "Just give them a few hours and they should be fine."

Mathias stared down the dark road. He thought of Elisabetha, alone and sick. He thought about his child soon to enter the world, as vulnerable as they will ever be. And then he thought of the demon, that had followed him so long. "Then I will walk." He started off quickly down the road.

"Sir!" One of the driver's called out, he started laughing, "Well alright I guess, we will pick you up tomorrow, you might be able to make it over half way by the time we reach you."

Mathias stopped, even in his impassioned state he was a fiercely logical man. He turned back around and looked at the driver, who was still chuckling to himself. Mathias did not appreciate his humor. His paranoia fueled a powerful anger. He quickly crossed the distance between the two of them and snatched the driver around the neck in a brutal grip, "Do not ever mock me again you degenerate. Do you understand me?"

The driver was taken back, aghast and terrified. He tried to choke out an answer but could not speak. Mathias loosened the grip, and he managed to get out quick stinted words, "Yes! Sir!"

Mathias held the man their choking for another moment before pushing him back and to the ground, "Do what you must to hurry things. See to the horse. Get them something to drink." The other driver was staring at Mathias, with more terror than the one he had just choked. Mathias stormed into the coach, slamming the door behind him.

He had not realized it initially, but Mathias was on the verge of passing out from exhaustion. It had been over twenty four hours since he had slept, having been so gripped in his paranoia, in his worry for Elisabetha and their baby. His mind raced constantly with the anxiety of it all. Sitting and waiting, on the soft interior sofa of the cab, it did not take him long to fall into a deep sleep.

As Mathias slept, the nightmares that had come to plague him on the the journey reached a fever pitch. In an impossible dream far more vivid than even the waking world, Mathias walked down a dark, barely visible road. The world around him was distorted, ethereal, moving almost as if it were under water. As he walked further, for what felt a long time, the world became subtly lighter. Eventually is was a dull gray sky spread over a barren and broken landscape.

In the light, Mathias could see that he was far from alone on the road. Men and women of all ages, all peoples of the world, marched down the road as he did, though he seemed to move quicker than any of the others. He was less encumbered by the journey. The others pushed or pulled carts along with them, they were filled with what appeared to be personal items. Mathias had no such cart.

After walking down that seemingly endless road for what felt like hours, Mathias could see something different up ahead. There was a large stone altar with ancient sigils and runes carved into it, some of them smoldering like hot coals. Standing behind the altar was a tall thin being cloaked in a haggard black hood. Mathias could see the people walking up to the hooded figure, and offering him items from their carts. Once this being was satisfied with their offerings, they were allowed to continue down the road.

Mathias began to grow worried, for he had no cart, no offerings. His mind was only semi-lucid, so he did not question the absurdity of the experience. Even in such a state, as always, Mathias elected to face this obstacle head on, he would not hide or stall or try to escape what appeared to him in his dream-state to be fate. As he got closer to the altar, he grabbed some of the more elegant items from the carts of his fellow travelers. They were all too weak and weary to put up any real resistance.

When he got to the altar, Mathias placed upon it the items he had taken from the others. The hooded figure looked down at the offerings, then to Mathias himself, and nodded. Mathias instinctively knew that the being required more, so he looked around, and snatched more objects from the carts nearest to him, quickly thereafter placing them upon the altar as well. Again the figure gave him the same nod, that told him his offerings were as yet insufficient.

Mathias became somewhat frantic, throwing the other travelers to the ground and grabbing huge armfuls of the their offerings, piling as many of them onto the altar as could fit. The hooded figure appeared less satisfied with each new addition. Finally the ethereal specter slammed its hands down onto the stone altar, creating a boom as loud as thunder, as loud as the horrid booming crashes he had heard exploding in his childhood home the night of that fateful ritual.

The hooded figure looked at Mathias without visible eyes, and shook its head disapprovingly. It would accept no more stolen offerings, Mathias had reached his limit. It pointed it's long, gray, distorted index finger at him, and hissed out the word, "Youuuuuu."

Mathias woke in a cold sweat. The sun was up now, and he could hear the drivers outside readying the horses. He took a minute to collect himself, and then ventured out of the coach. The fire was out, the camp had been packed up, the horses were up and energetic, basically everything had been done already and they were ready to be off. Mathias was desperate to be home, to be done, to put everything behind him and start his peaceful happy life with his family.

Just as they were about to head off, another party in another coach came down the road from the opposite direction. Mathias recognized the banner that hung over top of it immediately. It was his own. This was another group of his men, heading away from their home. They slowed and stopped as they realized who it was they came upon. Their ranking member, a young man named Roland, a man Mathias had trained himself years prior, stepped out. He had an expression of great sadness, and fear.

"Sir." Roland said sheepishly as he walked up to Mathias.

Mathias was confused, he looked at Roland questioningly, but said nothing.

Roland continued, "We had just embarked to come find you. We did not expect to find you nearly so soon." He looked around, hesitated, "We have important news for you, my lord."

Mathias's heart dropped, and somehow he knew, but asked anyway. His voice choked out his question, "What is it?"

"It is your wife, my lord." Roland could barely bring himself to say the words, "I am afraid, she has passed in child birth."

Mathias was frozen in time. He felt as if he were falling through an endless chasm, surrounded by fire. It could not be true, yet he was so absolutely certain that it was. In truth, deep down, he had known of this outcome since he had first heard of her illness. It was why he had been so desperate to go to her, to stop it. He was lost for words, in very real terms his world had just ended. He had endured his own personal slice of Armageddon.

"Sir." Roland cut in again, almost too nervous to speak, "The child yet lives."

Mathias's gaze turned to Roland, they met eyes and Mathias's desperation became clear, but there was the tiniest flicker of hope. Roland added, "But he presents the same symptoms that she had for the previous months."

Mathias blurted out his next words belligerently, "How long ago?"

Roland was confused, "Sir?"

"How long ago did she die!" Mathias screamed, "Tell me now!"

Roland was jolted into a panic, "I am not certain. A few hours perhaps."

Mathias looked past Roland, then turned and moved quickly back to his horses. He pulled one from the reigns, and without so much as another word, hopped atop it and road off towards his home. Time was of the essence, if their still remained any time at all.


	13. Chapter 13: Paradise Lost

**Chapter 13: Paradise Lost.**

Mathias burst through the doors of his home. It was a home he had never actually spent a night in, a home procured by the wealth garnered from his time east. He stormed through the entry hall, up the large stair case, marching quickly towards the bedroom. As he stomped forward, he noticed for the first time, that the home had a passing resemblance to that of his childhood, a somewhat intangible similarity.

He threw open the doors of his bedroom and startled the two servant girls who were tending to it. Both of them gasped, one almost fell to the ground. Mathias saw nothing else in the room but the well made bed and the furniture, "Where are they!?" He screamed with such fury as to send both women recoiling back even further.

Neither of the servants could muster a word, being far too exasperated by his entrance and explosive demand. Mathias had no patience and he screamed again, "Where are they!?"

Finally the older of the two women managed out a timid response, "They have... they have been taken to... the monastery."

Without so much as a word or reaction Mathias quickly turned and stormed back out of the house. He once again leaped onto the horse and was off. The monastery was not far. Had he the ability to think clearly, he would have worried about what it meant for the baby. In his frantic emotionally shattered state all he could do was focus on his linear goal, to get from point a to point b.

He arrived at the monastery much as he had arrived at his home, bursting in through the doors and screaming, "Where is my wife?!"

Some of the monks came walking down the stairs, clearly surprised by the outburst. They were confused, none of them had had any expectation of his so imminent arrival. They stared at him blankly, and after a moment Mathias continued, this time merely shouting in his aggressive, despair fueled rage, "Where is the Abbott?"

Almost as if in response the Abbott stepped out from the stair well. His eyes were wide, and red, his mouth in a concerned frown. His face told of a sorrow so deep it could drain all the oceans of the world, "Mathias... my son..."

Their eyes met, and the Abbott's sorrow unlocked Mathias's own. Mathias fell to his knees, weeping uncontrollably. The Abbott ran to him and took him in his arms.

A few minutes later the pair of them were alone in one of the back rooms. They stood beside a bed, upon which sat the draped over body of Elisabetha. Mathias stared down at her forlornly. His heart was shattered, his life, and family, and future were all shattered.

"What happened, father?" Mathias barely whispered, the pain in his heart silencing his voice.

"She was ill my son." The Abbott placed his hand on Mathias's shoulder, "She made it through the birth, but the stress on her body, combined with her weakened state. It was too much for her."

The tears streamed once again down Mathias's face. He held a hand to his brow. He stared down at her form, clearly visible under the thin, mostly transparent sheet, "How long did she make it after the birth? Did she get to see him?"

"Yes, she did." The Abbott said lovingly, packing as much warmth as he could into every word, "She called him Adrian."

Mathias fell to his knees and moaned in agony. He screamed up to the ceiling, to the heavens, "Why!?" It was a cry of melancholic agony. The next one was pure rage filled fury, "Why!?"

The Abbott leaned down and embraced Mathias, tried to calm him, "My son! My son, you must calm yourself. I am so sorry for all of this. God has a plan."

Mathias inhaled and exhaled in deep powerful breaths, his shoulders rising and falling dramatically. His rage tempered his mind, and drove him to focus back on what he still may be able to remedy, "Where is my son? Where is Adrian?"

Moments later they were walking into the infirmary. As Mathias first laid eyes upon the sleeping Adrian, there was brief moment of hope. He looked like any new born baby, a little small, but there was no obvious sign of any weakness in health. He was a little pale, bald, wrapped up warmly in a wool blanket. The moment was sadly fleeting, as almost immediately afterwards he heard the horrible, strained gurgle of the small baby's breath. He fought for every lungful of air, fought hard, and barely succeeded.

Standing beside of the small bed upon which Adrian lied, was the wet nurse, two sisters from another nearby church, and Father Lucas, who was the most medically gifted of the monastery.

"What is wrong with him?" Mathias demanded from Father Lucas, while continuing to walk over, and place a hand on Adrian's head. "Why is he so cold?"

Father Lucas exhaled with exasperation, "I spent over two months trying to diagnose and treat your wife Mathias, but I was never able to do a thing to help her. I am sorry."

Mathias looked back down at Adrian, and caressed the baby's soft head gently. Each pained breath stuck Mathias violently in the heart. "I will bring him home with me right away, and I will conduct his medical care from here froward." He did not turn to look at the Father, "And you will address me as Master or Baron Cronqvist."

He carefully lifted Adrian up out of the bed and onto his shoulder, taking special care not to put any added pressure onto his chest, "Get me a coach ready at once."

"Mathi... Master Cronqvist, I am the most skilled medical practitioner for a hundred miles." Father Lucas argued from a hope to help the child, but it rang to Mathias as vanity.

"Obviously not." Mathias said sternly while turning and glaring fiercely into the Father's eyes, "Now get me that coach at once!"

He turned to the wet nurse, "You will come with me, and shall be well compensated, yes?" The woman nodded quickly, undeterred from the awkwardness of the dire circumstances swirling all around her. Mathias quickly took his son, and had them load Elisabetha's body as well.

By the time Mathias arrived to his home with Adrian, the coach he had traveled in before had arrived, delivering his belongings, his books. Mathias was inside preparing right away. He had the drivers of the coaches and his house servants bring in his things, including laying Elisabetha out in his study, something that was protested until they saw the broken fury behind Mathias's eyes.

The wet nurse took Adrian into the room that had been set up for him, just across from Mathias's large library and study. She would attempt a feeding, but such attempts had so far born dreadfully little result. It was exceptionally difficult for the small infant to breath through his nose while eating.

Mathias dove head first into his studies, deeper and more rapidly than he had in his life. The entirety of his conscious mind's power was wholly dedicated to healing his son. Had he a single thought to spare he may have imagined the still bitter sweet life they might have together, without Elisabetha. As it was there was no time nor space for such thoughts.

After the mostly fruitless attempt at feeding, Mathias entered the bedroom with several different herbs and ointments to be applied. He also gave a list to one of the servants of more that he would need from in town. The remedies were applied, but there was no immediately visible change. Mathias ordered the wet nurse attempt another feeding and went back to his study to further prepare the more in depth and metaphysical treatments.

A few hours later it was much clearer that the initial remedies had not taken, nor were the feedings. Adrian's health was deteriorating by the minute. His breath was becoming more pained, his strength growing weaker and weaker. This in turn led to an adverse effect in Mathias's desperation.

He brought Adrian into the study and placed him into the small make-shift bed he had prepared for him. It had arcane symbols carved into the railings, and the soft fabric used to make the bedding had been soaked in oils and tonics that bestowed healing energies into them. Mathias lit a peculiar green stick of incense, and a thick white plume of smoke rose up off of it. He fanned it over towards Adrian while reciting an incantation in ancient Hebrew.

This continued for close to an hour, before the incense ran out. Mathias leaned to check Adrian, again rubbing his hand gently across the tiny baby's forehead. Again Adrian groaned out another breath, it was like the grating of steel on stone. It was still not working. Mathias became increasingly exasperated, and asked many questions in his head, How was it not working? Not at all? What manner of illness could it be? How could God be so determined to take his child from him?

Not long after, Mathias was on the floor, on all fours, scrawling the same old arcane circles and symbols upon it. He had far from exhausted his options and was far from giving up. He had been at the work for over five hours straight by that point. He spent another hour preparing the room for the ritual.

When Mathias had finished, he ordered that the servants and wet nurse restrict themselves to the first floor until instructed otherwise. He locked the door to the study, placed Adrian's bed in the center of the largest circle at the center of the room, and put out all of the lamps. He lit the necessary herbs, spilled his own blood onto the floor, and had begun to chant the inhuman words he had learned in his fathers books.

It did not hit him right away, but after a few minutes of chanting he realized, nothing was happening. He paused for a moment in a shock-like state, before starting the incantation over. He delivered the words more feverishly, more impassioned and desperate. It made no difference. Mathias's magic, something he had never actually referred to as such, something that he had relied on for so much over the last several years of his life, was gone. All of his knowledge was useless.

Mathias screamed horribly into the night. His servants heard him below, but had already learned better than to go up and disturb him without being summoned. Most assumed it was a cry of lamentation at Adrian's passing. Such a quick death for the infant would have been a mercy for Mathias, but it appeared God had no mercies for him.

Mathias sat there in the dark, holding his young son to his chest, as the baby struggled horribly for air. The father embraced the son, caressed him. Mathias was suddenly no different than any other father who had ever faced such a situation. All of his learning, all of his intelligence, all of his power, it was useless. It was all useless, in the face of God. That was the thought that cut through his sorrow. He looked up to the ceiling, felt Adrian's breaths become more pained, "Have I not suffered enough? Have I not given you enough!? Has he not suffered enough!?"

Just then Mathias saw something out of the corner of his eye and turned. The door to the study had been opened. He saw movement and turned. In a flash he saw it, a sight of utter aberration. That dark skeletal abomination, that first creature he had dealt with and had attempted to call upon now, Mathias caught a glimpse of it, but when he had turned to look, it pulled back, the motion revealed that what Mathias had seen previously was but a small appendage of the true being, like a small bulb on the end of a much larger creature. It pulled back and was as large as the open hallway itself, filing every inch of the space with its massive, insect-like black form.

Mathias screamed in terror, a feeling he had not experienced in such a way in a very long time. When he moved to the door, the demon had vanished completely. This told Mathias enough to know that it was over. All the forces of good and evil seemed lined up against him. He fell to the floor, seated up against the wall, his son held up to his chest.

Mathias sat their on the floor, weeping, with Adrian in his arms for another two hours. Finally, with a final, surprisingly peaceful gasp of air, the last of Mathias's family was taken from this world. Adrian's suffering ended, and the true depths of Mathias's began.

Mathias was lost, alone, broken. His magic had failed him so entirely. Without him even realizing it had become the most important aspect by which he defined himself. The destruction of his self image and worth was but another devastating tragedy to be thrown onto the pile that had so quickly become so immense. In that moment Mathias was as close to death as he had ever been, both literally and figuratively.

It was well into the morning hours before Mathias could bring himself to even move. He still held Adrian's motionless body to him. Across the room he could see Elisabetha's cloaked body as it sat atop the far table. The dueling tragedies attacked his heart from different angles, shredding out swaths of his humanity.

There was suddenly a slow, labored shuffling from out in the hallway, and after a moment the door creaked open. Mathias's head arced up the tiniest bit. He did not truly have any interest or care as to who or what it was entering his study. It was certainly very far from anything he would dare to expect.

Clothed in a the festering, moist and moldy cloak that Mathias had seen him wear throughout his childhood, came shuffling what appeared to be the withered, rotted, barely held together ethereal corpse of Mathias's father, Josevus Cronqvist.

Mathias looked up at the terrifying specter of his long dead patriarch. For the combination of his familiarity with the supernatural, and the utter destruction of his life, Mathias merely muttered weakly, "Why have you come?"

Josevus's wraith stood quietly for an extended moment before speaking with two simultaneous voices. One was a booming exaggeration of the deep voice he had spoken with in life, the other a grating, choking whisper ripping through from the nether realm, "To release you."

Mathias stared into what remained of the spirit's eyes, "Release me from what?" he spoke almost angrily, with a dry bitterness.

The wraith stared at him without full eyes, but he could feel its gaze, it answered, "From your suffering."

Mathias no longer felt any connection to the physical world around him. He felt like a soul adrift in a never ending sea, alone and sinking into a darkness of unimaginable depth. He looked down at the body of his son in his arms, then over to the draped one of Elisabetha.

Josevus spoke again, "Let go my son."

As Mathias turned his head, ready to accept the offer, he suddenly felt a powerful drop in his stomach, as if he were falling through the air. In an instant things went dark. Mathias could not see or hear anything. He recoiled, fought, and suddenly his vision and sight reappeared, and he was back on the floor, staring at the apparition of his father.

Mathias was panting heavily, the confusion of what had happened shrouding away a portion of his grief. He wondered if what he had experienced was a taste of death.

Josevus extended a skeletal arm with the meagerest gray clumps of decayed flesh still clinging to it, it was missing several of its fingers, "Suffer no longer, Mathias." he continued to press.

Again things went black. Mathias could not feel Adrian against his chest. It struck him that he could barely feel anything, other than that he was now lying on his back. He tried to scream, and fought hard again against whatever it was that was happening to him. Again things returned to normal, he sat in the same position seated on his floor, once again able to see and hear.

"Let me help you, my son." Josevus feigned something that may have resembled sympathy were it not for the horror of his voices.

Mathias pushed himself up the wall into something of a standing position, "I cannot." He looked down at Adrian with a terrible realization upon his face, "He was unbaptized." He started to weep again, and looked over to Elisabetha, "She was so completely pure." He turned to the ghost of his father, "And I... I am so completely tainted..." He turned back down to Adrian, "If I depart now... we shall be kept apart for all eternity. I cannot allow that."

As Mathias's mind regained focus he noticed something that if not for his current state he would have noticed far sooner. There was a strange pressing on his mind, but more than that. Whatever it was, it was pressing on his soul, trying to force it out. Mathias slowly raised his eyes back to his father, taking in the grisly details with more clarity as his mind cleared. He noticed again the ruined eyes, and the lack of any remaining ears.

Josevus's grim stare became more stern, he almost seemed to grow in stature, "Be free of your pain."

In another instant, Mathias felt the pressing intensify and he was suddenly back in the darkness, on his back. He tried to scream, but could only feel a raspy gurgle in what felt like a ruined throat. He tried to thrash about, but what was left of the limbs could barely manage movement. He could feel that he was enclosed in a tight space. He knew now what it was, a coffin. As he silently screamed, and tried to thrash, Mathias went into a panic. He was subconsciously surprised that he yet retained such a drive to live, but now that he realized his family's potential fate, eternal separation, he had a stronger drive to live than ever before.

It had already been longer than the previous two instances. Mathias pressed out against the force that he still felt against his soul, and after a moment, flashed back into his own body. He had moved in the meantime. He was now standing in front of his desk now, staring down at the open books upon it, holding nothing in his arms. He turned around quickly, to see Adrian laid on the floor, a small split in the skin just above his left eye, where his head hit the stone when he had been unceremoniously dropped to the floor.

The specter of Josevus appeared again where it had been standing before, Mathias's gaze shot to it, and he screamed out in fury, "How dare you!"

Again Josevus tried to overtake Mathias, but this time Mathias fought back, pressing out with his own will against the dramatically deteriorated spirit of his father, "You will not take my body!" Mathias turned and grabbed his father's journal off of the desk, "I am more of a man, more of a sorcerer than you could ever have hoped to become!" He slammed the book down on the ground, in the center of the ritual circle he had already carved there.

Josevus's form grew darker, his ethereal body withered further. He pressed out against Mathias's will and soul with everything he had left in him. He spoke in a voice that both boomed and scratched at much higher levels than before, "Do not defy me, boy."

Mathias pressed back, and swelled, breathing deeply and extending his chest dramatically. He stared back at the ghost of his father and grimaced as he spoke with complete authority, "Do not defy me, corpse!"

Mathias stomped forward, until there was less than an inch between their faces. He shouted the incantation, "Copiae tenebris circuli. Et conteret vos sinus huius libri; et ullus spiritum, qui morantur intra eam."

The journal erupted into dark flames. Josevus turned subtly and looked at it, then back to Mathias, he had no more fight left within him. The two stared each other down without another word, until the specter disappeared, and the journal was ash.

Mathias turned from where Josevus had stood. He looked back over to his own son and wondered which of them had been the greater failure as a father. He quickly went over, and with as much tenderness as he could muster, lifted Adrian's body off of the floor. He walked over to where Elisabetha lied on the table, and lifted the sheet that was draped over her. Very gently, he placed Adrian into her arms.

He looked down into the family that had been taken from him. The family he had never even gotten to truly experience. Everything he had done, all of his life, it had all been for this. Every time he had to plunge his soul further into the filth, in order to win God's battles, he had thought of this, and now it was all gone, before it had even started.

He recoiled from the pain of it. He turned and saw the pile of ash that had been his father's journal, and wondered how much of a hand the specter had had in his life and work, "My own father..." He turned back to once again to the covered Elisabetha and Adrian, then once again looked up, towards the heavens, "Our Father..."

Mathias screamed in a rage as he threw the books off his desk and onto the floor. Every fiber of his being was screaming out into the universe in blind agony. He screamed again as he flipped the desk itself several feet into the air, "You kept every blade of grass! Every grain of sand!"

Mathias snatched up his desk chair and hurled it against the wall where it shattered on impact, "You kept Antioch! You kept every city, every army I ever conquered for you!" He grabbed a book shelf, and with his rage fueled strength threw it over onto the floor, "But because I do not kill them by your standards I am so horribly punished!"

Mathias fell to his knees, but continued to scream up at the God he now so hated, "You are a monster! You are a hypocrite! I will turn all of my fury, all of my wisdom and power and rage against you! I who was your sword, shall dedicate my life to your downfall! I will grow in power and break every one of your arbitrary rules! I will take back everything that is mine!"


	14. Chapter 14: The Hunt Begins

**Chapter 14: The Hunt Begins.**

Two months after the death of his wife and son, Mathias was standing in his study, looking at a map spread across his desk. The room had been cleaned, the destroyed furniture and fixtures replaced. There was a painting on the wall of Elisabetha holding Adrian in her arms. They looked alive, and happy, as they never got the chance to be.

He studied the map for several minutes before something tugged at his mind and he looked away, eyes firmly shut. His breath became heavy and labored. He lifted his fist and slammed it down into the wooden desk, cracking it slightly. Tears were welling in his eyes. He looked up at the portrait. It was masterfully painted from the vision of their corpses, given warmth and life by the talented artist.

He stared up at that painting and weeped for what felt like hours. The sorrow in his heart was of a depth he had previously not known himself capable of. In fact in his use he had pondered on if he lacked the ability to connect so deeply as he saw with others. He did not doubt anymore, only that he would ever feel so strongly for anyone else again.

He had spent the first several weeks since their deaths completely bedridden, barely capable of function, but for over a month now he had been at work. Just like every obstacle Mathias had ever overcome in his life, he knew this one required patience, dedication, and hard work. His emotional burden was monstrous, but he would barricade it within, and push onward towards a solution.

He turned back to the map, and not long after there was a loud knocking at the door, "Enter." He called out just loud enough for them to hear him. Two of his knights came in, both appearing as tired as if they had just come from battle. They walked up to the desk where Mathias stood, he had not averted his gaze from the map. The two knights both bowed when they reached him.

Mathias questioned, "What have you to report?"

The higher ranking knight on the left replied, "We have found something sir. Like from the drawings you showed us."

"What was it?" He demanded, what little patience he had previously had was but a memory by this point.

"A cave, filled with those purple crystals. It looks just like the drawing from those notes, from Barten's conjurer." The man spoke with a certain degree of trepidation. They both knew that their leader was now given to fits of rage at the slightest provocation.

Mathias pondered for just moment, "And the stone?"

"Yes sir. Inside. It had all the symbols carved into it." He was happy to be giving all good news.

"Alright." Mathias said, "Well done. Keep two scouts on the location. Someone will come to pray there soon. The moon will be at it's brightest by the week's end." He finally turned and looked at them, "Have them followed, and report their whereabouts to me at once."

The two men simultaneously bowed and replied, "Yes sir."

"Now leave me." Mathias demanded, his mind and tone slipping back into rage colored darkness. The two followed his orders and quickly retreated out of the room.

Mathias staggered down into his chair, almost falling to the ground. He was trembling. He opened one of his desk drawers and pulled out a large purple candle, a small metal plate, and a small paper package of mixed leaves and herbs. He held the candle against the flame of a smaller white one already lit on his desk. After it lit he held held the packet of leaves to the flame until it also caught flame, then placed it into the plate.

He moved the cloth cover of his desk to reveal a circular arcane symbol carved into the wood. He placed the purple candle in its center, where it fit perfectly into the central ring. He breathed in the smoke from the small burning package, and recited a quick spell in his native tongue, "Spirits of the dark. Use these tools to ease my pain and calm my mind." He looked up at the portrait of his phantom family, and continued to breath deep of the smoke.

This ritual was one oft repeated in the dark chamber. Mathias's days had become filled with study, the remedying of his grief, and fits of rage fueled hysteric mourning. He had never in his life felt such a lack of control over himself. He had continued the cycle of study, grief, and remedy over and over, but he knew that the true cure for his pain required knowledge he did not yet possess. As the effects of the herbs and the spell became stronger, Mathias opened his eyes anew, ready to devote himself entirely to what needed be done.

Much of his study of the recent weeks had been focused on the notes of that initial conjurer, the man who had given life to the suit of armor that almost killed Leon. There was not much their compared to some of what Mathias had come to find in the years since, but the materials he now possessed supplemented it and showed a higher degree of sophistication than Mathias had previously realized. It was clear that the man had been a student of someone much more gifted, much more powerful, and Mathias was somehow certain that they were not far.

He opened the notes back up to the section about the cave. There was the sketch he had shown to his knights. It depicted a cave deep inside the old swamps, a cave filled with built up quartz and other crystals, with a large limestone-like rock with ancient magical symbols carved into it. The notes claimed it was a place of prayer, a place where those gifted in the right kinds of knowledge could draw power from the earth.

The notes frequently mentioned a man called "Otan." Mathias was sure that was who he sought. Otan was the one who had taught the conjurer of the cave, and apparently the one who had taught him to animate armors as well.

It was just another couple of days before Mathias heard more from his men. Just as Mathias had known, as it stipulated clearly in the notes, the full moon super charged the effects of the cave. It was a special time that the shamans would use to gather power for their larger or more overt works of magic. It was a power of a completely different type than Mathias had previously been familiar. It was easier, and less costly, but slower, and not as capable.

When the men entered, just as before, Mathias barely acknowledged their presence. Again, they seemed almost grateful for that fact, "Sir, we have the location of one who came to pray inside the cave during the full moon. We have not engaged. We await your command."

"How far are they?" Mathias responded almost right away.

"Sir?" The man questioned.

Mathias turned to look at his knight, growing in anger and shrinking in patience, "How far are away are they? From us, right now?"

"Um..." The man was befuddled by the suggestion. Mathias had not left the manor in over a month. He had not actually taken part in any of the missions enacted in the recent weeks. His men had assumed he would continue as a commander, working behind the scenes and directing, "Not far, less than a day's ride. But surely you do not mean to go yourself sir..."

"I surely do." Mathias quickly snapped in angrily. "I surely will. Ready my horse, we leave at once." The men did as they were told, without even a hint of another question. Mathias stared up at the portrait as he awaited them. Just a few minutes later they were off.

The way to their destination was all but completely silent. Mathias requested only the most basic information. It had been a young man, he was dressed in a similar manner to the conjurer that had been in Barten's employ all those years ago. He had come and prayed in the cavernous holy site for several hours before making his way back to a small shack of a cottage deep in the forest. The men that followed him had not noticed anything overtly odd about this man's house or the surrounding wilderness, though he did appear to possess a limited control over the animals.

When they arrived, they met with two other knights, the ones who had followed the man, at a rendezvous point they had set up. They were as surprised to see Mathias as the others had been at the news he would travel with them. He wasted no time, "Is there anything more I need know? Other than what you have already disclosed?" His feverish determination and pace were somewhat taxing on his men, but they knew much better than to protest. Not only did Mathias have a reputation of distaste for criticism of his plans, but for succeeding in whatever mad plan it was to be criticized. To this day he remained undefeated by all except for God himself.

The surprised knights merely shook their heads, "No sir. You know what we know."

"And this business with the animals... What exactly have you seen?" Mathias pressed for whatever hidden information there might be, something that would mean little or nothing to them, but more to him with his litany of contextual knowledge.

"Nothing too incredible." One of them replied, "He talks to his raven and it seems to do as he says. The foxes and squirrels too."

Mathias rubbed his chin and looked around the wooded area questioningly, "And you have not seen any larger animals? I worry not about birds and rodents, but wolves or bears... that is another story entirely."

"No sir." The man answered, "Biggest thing we have seen around here was a deer."

"Alright, good." Mathias responded, his eyes fixed out in the direction of the cottage.

"So how do you want to go about this sir? Three in with two back? We can take the house rather quickly I imagine." Mathias's men were eager to please him.

"No." He said, without making another comment for a few moments, still just staring off, as if he could see something the others could not. "You all shall wait here. I will go in alone."

There was a terribly uncomfortable tension rising among them. The men were flabbergasted, driven almost by animal instinct to protest, to say something, but pushed by forces just as powerful to say nothing at all, to merely nod and agree. As they shared worried looks of disbelief among each other, the latter drive won out, "Yes sir." was their only reply.

Mathias made his way slowly up to the old cottage. There had been no word of weapons, of the man displaying any type of athleticism, or even spells of an offensive nature. As far as Mathias was concerned it was a lowly witch of the wood who used small magics to live his life alone and in peace. He came to the door as if a traveler lost in the forest. Knocking three times heartily without the slightest thought towards stealth or surprise.

After just a few moments the door opened just a small crack. Mathias could not see the man inside, but he spoke, "What do you want?"

"I am sorry." Mathias said, "I am but a weary traveler."

"What is a traveler doing out this way?" The man was paranoid, and rightly so.

Mathias was prepared for it, "I had come to spend some time in the caves to the south, but I seem to have lost my way."

The door opened slightly, but Mathias could still not make out much more than the slightest silhouette, "What were you doing in the caves."

Mathias chuckled and smiled, "Well... I hope you will not think me a heretic. But they have these crystals you see, and these old carven stones. You might say they speak to me. Aid me." He laughed again, "Not in my sense of direction though I am afraid."

"Yes..." The man replied, Mathias could hear his tone warming, "Those caves are a wonder for sure. I have spent some time there recently myself. You must have arrived just a few days after I left."

"They are truly something." Mathias added, keeping his overly cordial tone, "Friend... I am very tired from my walking. Is there any way I might come in for a few minutes, maybe you might offer me something to drink?"

The man audibly sighed as he considered it, he hesitated for a few moments before sealing his fate, "Alright... yes, come in." He pulled the door open, and Mathias could immediately see why the man was so guarded.

His walls were ordained in similar carvings as those found on the rocks in the caves. He had several of the same crystals as well. There was little furniture, a chair by the door, a bed at the far wall with a small trunk at its foot, and a small table near the center with a human skull sat upon it. Mathias stepped into the room, examining the details. It was much what he expected. As was the man.

He stood about two inches shorter than Mathias, he had short dreaded hair. He was clothed in a ragged dirty sheet moved into a composition somewhat resembling an ancient Roman toga. His skin was equally dirty. He was smiling a little bit, "I have just come from the well friend. You are in luck."

Suddenly there was a loud caw that drew Mathias's attention, something he should have noticed, was sure he would have noticed before. There was a large raven up in the corner, standing on a makeshift perch near the ceiling. It startled Mathias, something very rare, and very unappreciated. It did however make Mathias's subterfuge all the more believable.

"Forgive him sir. This is Hermes, my dear friend." He motioned up at the bird. It was clear that Mathias's attempt to build a kinship with this man had worked perfectly. He was clearly a hermit witch of some kind, living in a state of desperate loneliness and paranoia.

"It is quite alright." Mathias replied, "An interesting pet. And an interesting home."

"Yes." The man's manic quality faded a bit, "I am sorry, I was not expecting company." He turned around, then quickly looked back at Mathias, "Let me get you that water."

"Thank you." Mathias continued to study the home and the man, and the raven now as well. He had a good idea about what that bird truly was. "Your home reminds me very much of those caves. I imagine you know much more about them than I do."

He came back to Mathias with a wooden cup of water, "I know them well. How did a man such as yourself come upon them?"

Mathias chuckled as he took the drink, "Yes, well I am a man of many travels. I have learned much throughout my life."

The man's overly pleased demeanor returned, it was likely the first conversation he had in over a year, "Oh how wonderful. Where have you traveled?"

"To the east, mostly." Mathias said, his tone hardening as the volume of his voice dropped.

The meaning of such travels, in that specific era, were not lost even on this hermit. "Were you on the march for your holy land?" He seemed confused, "Are you a crusader?" He was clearly rattled.

"I was, among other things." Mathias's tone retained that dour cold impersonality. He looked at the young man, "What is it that you are exactly?"

The younger man's eyes met with Mathias's, a rapidly growing fear behind them. He hesitated for a moment before answering, "I am a student of druidism." There was a momentary silence, then he continued, "If you prayed in those caves, you must know something of druidism yourself."

"I never claimed to have prayed there." Mathias replied, "I do not pray much at all, to anyone, not anymore. I merely admired those rocks. What they might illuminate for me."

The man started to sweat, the dirt on his face smudging down in small streaks, "I am starting to worry that I should not have opened my door." He said, half jokingly, half deadly serious.

Mathias chuckled lightly, "Well I guess that depends on what you can tell me." The raven cawed loudly once again, somehow again catching Mathias off guard. He grimaced and scowled at it angrily, than looked back at the man, "He is your familiar, is he not?" he asked.

The man's face still held a tremendous nervousness, but he seemed eager to comply, "Yes, very observant of you."

Mathias sighed while examining the bird, "It is rather unimpressive as far as familiars go." He quipped, casting any semblance of decorum or friendliness to the wind. "In my time east, I once met a woman whose familiar was a terrible little goblin, that when cut in half would grow into two half-sized versions of itself." Mathias stared at the man with a look of disbelief, exaggerating the effect of his words, "By the time we were able to kill it there were over a dozen of the tiny buggers."

The man became almost frozen, his body language shifting drastically, "You killed her familiar?"

"We did." Mathias said with utter seriousness, and a hint of melancholy.

The man inhaled deeply, his fear rising, "And what happened to the woman?"

Mathias looked at the man and smirked in silence for a moment, "I cut out her tongue, ran her through with this very blade." He patted the long thin blade at his hip, "And took all of her books, all of her artifacts, her knowledge."

The man sighed, continuing to become more visibly nervous. He spoke with a dry, almost toneless half whisper, stuttering out his words, "So y... you went east t... to hunt w... witches?"

Mathias laughed again, "Hardly. She was trying to kill me. I would have settled for just her knowledge. But once she was dead I figured... why not?" He was different. It was not only the deaths that had changed him, but his new view on God, and his laws. It changed the way he viewed everything he had done in his life, washed away any and all guilt.

The man said nothing, too frightened to speak. He could see now the knights outside the house. They had made themselves obvious, as they had been ordered to. Mathias picked up the skull on the table, "I have come here tonight for knowledge as well. I am a purveyor of knowledge, one might say."

"I will teach you whatever you want, everything I know." The man half pleaded, his growing desperation obvious. His life had never known war. He was a stranger to combat, intimidation, to death.

Mathias laughed, "Oh no, boy. There is nothing that you could teach. The knowledge that I require from you is not a what or a how. It is a who, and a where." Mathias put down the skull and took three menacing steps towards the young conjurer whose name he still did not even know, "Otan."

The man started to cry upon hearing the name, "No..." He said quietly, more to himself than to Mathias, "Oh no please. Anything else." The man was so terrified. Mathias's intimidation of him so utterly complete, he was on the verge of a break down, trembling violently, very much like Mathias had before in his home. Perhaps that was why he took the slightest momentary pity on him.

"Calm yourself, boy." Mathias reached out and placed his hand on the boys shoulder, and looked him in the eyes, "Just tell me where he is, and we will leave you and never come back."

The man's blood shot red eyes were flooded with tears, "Are you... going to... hurt him?" He barely managed out through his sobs.

Mathias leaned in closer, his tiniest hint of mercy eroding fast, "That depends very much on him. Now tell me where he is. And no harm will come to you."

The young druidic shaman looked down to the floor in despair, whaling in agony, "I can't." He looked back up at Mathias with horror, "No."

Mathias looked down and chuckled. He pulled his arm back and stood across from the man who had suddenly grown a backbone, "I take it this man is important to you."

The man shot back his answer immediately, desperately, "I would be dead if not for him." The pitiful sobs were starting to give way to something almost noble, admittedly brave Mathias thought. "Everything that I have in the world is because of him."

Mathias looked down at the floor, barely able to conceal his delight at the declaration. "He sounds like an inspiring man." He looked up at the cawing crow that had so annoyed him, the druid's familiar, "I imagine that everything includes your dark friend here?" He turned back to the man, "Did he give it to you?"

The man seemed confused, probably due to the drastic shift in Mathias's tone and behavior. He likely expected to be dead already, "Yes. Yes he did."

Mathias laughed again and smiled, before pulling his long thin blade from his waist and leaping upon the man in a blinding fury. He stabbed the blade up through the man's stomach, into his upper torso a good eight or nine inches, and grabbed him around the throat with his other hand. The man gasped and screamed out.

Mathias brought his face very close to that of the now dying man, and spoke carefully and quietly, but with a notable tone of rage and glee, "That is good. Because all familiars return to their previous masters, should their current fall from this life." He ripped the blade out, pulling open the man's rib cage, then pushed him back onto the floor.

The bird started to caw and flap about furiously. It slammed into the closed window, and it creaked a good bit, almost opening. Mathias lunged for it, and it darted away from the window, dodging him. The door was far more solid, their was no escaping through there. Mathias pulled the window back, and latched the lock.

He looked over at the raven familiar, perched on the chair by the door, "I do not mean to harm you, creature."

It cawed back it him angrily. He had no idea what it meant, other than its revulsion to him. He stepped towards it and it flapped away into another corner. Mathias's burst again at it, this time fueled by the rage he felt at the thing's persistence and he snatched it up violently in his hands. He rather ungently fastened a thin leather strap around it, holding it as if it were a dog on a leash.

He opened the door holding the end of the fastened bird's restraint. The raven pulled aggressively to the northwest. Mathias walked over towards his gathered men, pulling the bird against its intended direction. He walked up to his highest ranking knight, "The four of you will take this bird. You are to follow it's path without losing hold of it."

The man laughed, "What madness do you speak of sir?"

Mathias grabbed him angrily by his chest armor, "Listen to me you imbecile! We fight the devil himself here!" Mathias's legendary rage and genius were laid bare and intertwined. He was completely able to assimilate what lies he needed into his truths to make them palatable for others to do as he needed them to, "The cursed bird will lead you to the lair of a powerful witch. A man, called Otan. I trust that you will know his lair when you have seen it. Kill the bird once you have found it, and report back to me."

The man was thoroughly shaken, and cursing himself for his laughter and outburst, "Yes sir! Absolutely sir!"

"Listen to me." Mathias said with deadly seriousness as he pulled the knight in closer, "To lose this bird before it leads you to Otan, is to lose your life. Do you understand me?"

"Yes sir!" The knight shouted again, before taking the strap firmly in hand, and fastening it tightly around his wrist. He and the others were quickly off. Mathias fastened the dead druid's trunk onto the back of his horse, and made his way for home.


	15. Chapter 15: Questions and Answers

**Chapter 15: Questions and Answers.**

It was only a few days before Mathias's men found the lair that he was sure belonged to Otan. His men returned to his empty manor to find Mathias shut up in the library, as always. They knocked on the large wooden door, but there was no immediate response. The two knights looked at each other with obvious concern. Everyone had been deeply concerned with Mathias's well being since the passing of his wife and son. They had all bore witness to his spells of rage and despair. How he was able to maintain even the temporary appearance of wellness was a mystery to them.

The knight knocked again, slightly louder, and light footsteps were suddenly heard from within. After a moment the door opened, and a somewhat more disheveled than usual Mathias appeared out from behind it. His hair was messy, his clothes ruffled as if he had been wearing them for more than a day. He had bags under his eyes, strain upon his face. It was clear that he had not slept in days.

"Have they found him?" Mathias asked. The words came with no life, his voice a dull monotone.

"Y... yes sir. They have." The man replied sheepishly. Seeing Mathias in such a state was difficult for them, both for the memory of the leader he had been, and the knowledge that as his mental clarity slipped his wrath became more likely.

Mathias exhaled a slightly exasperated gasp, "Await me in the foyer. I will be down shortly." He closed the door without waiting for a response. He knew that they would follow his orders. They were good men, good soldiers. He rubbed his face, trying to press out the compounding despair and exhaustion.

He turned and walked back into the room. Their were new painted and carven symbols all over the floor, some on the walls. There were various types of incenses burning, and various weapons piled up into the circles, as Mathias had done while in the east. He had a bandage wrapped around his hand, it was stained with blood. The same blood marked many of the circles as well. He went over to his desk, pulled out the same materials he had been using to calm himself, and began the all too familiar incantation.

Its effects were waning. Mathias found it increasingly difficult to pull his mind away from his grief. He knew that in order to continue, in order to set things right, he would soon need to employ other, more overt means of correcting his feelings. Unfortunately any means he currently had access to for such things came with heavy costs, both in time and possible consequence. He hoped to find something new with this Otan. He had found whole new worlds of knowledge and possibility with every conquered mystic.

After calming slightly, Mathias redressed and groomed himself. In less than half an hour he was down in the foyer, appearing to be his normal, regal self. All signs of his previous discomposure had vanished. He walked up to the waiting knights and skipped any semblance of pleasantries, "How far is it?"

"Two days, sir." The man replied quickly, "If we make haste, and ride through the night."

"Haste we shall." Mathias half replied, half ordered, "We are off at once." Mathias went straight out the door and the two men followed behind him. Outside there were four more men waiting with the horses. Mathias leaped up onto his steed and started off, "Come now! Show me the way!" He called to them as they hurriedly raced up to meet him.

Mathias felt more at ease while he was moving, doing something. While in his house conducting his occult studies, or on the road to and in the middle of battle. Having a focus, an immediate goal, it was able to flush out the thoughts that came when his mind was at rest. It caused a searing focus, an indomitable devotion to the task at hand that would barrel through any and all that stood against it, added to his already ironclad will made Mathias a nigh unstoppable force.

They rode fast, Mathias and his second in command at the front, the others in two line stretched behind them. It was a mostly silent trek, but after several hours Mathias broke it with a question, "How defended is the position? I take it Otan will be more ready for us than the boy was."

"Considerably." The man answered nervously. Mathias shot him a somewhat disapproving look, the man frantically tried to explain himself, "You pushed on at such a pace, I was unsure how or when to broach it..."

"Tell me." Mathias snapped quickly, in no mood for beating around the bush.

"It's..." the man struggled for the words, "It is as you said, sir. Dark magic. The Devil." He paused, seemingly either unsure of what to say next, or unwilling to say it.

"Dammit!" Mathias exclaimed, "Enough with your frightened ambiguity! Give me details! What awaits us?"

The man breathed in and out, deeply and quickly, "Insects as big as dogs. The earth itself rising into a mockery of men. Spirits made of fire, and ice!"

Mathias's face gave away the slightest moment of concern, before returning to its hardened emotionless state, "We are prepared for such confrontation. I have seen to that." He turned to the overly nervous man, "There will be eleven of us in all. More than enough to take a simple witch's house." he turned back to the road before them, "When last I took one, I had but two men beside me."

It was intended to calm the man. It did not appear to accomplish the job, "How many of them made it out alive?" The man asked almost on instinct.

Mathias was annoyed by the question but answered, "One."

There was very little interaction between Mathias and his men for the remainder of the trek. It was a set up all parties preferred. The men truly believed in the work Mathias had them convinced they were doing, but it did little to stay their fear of him.

When they stopped briefly in the night to set up camp and allow the horses to rest, Mathias took a torch off the camp fire and went off on his own, as he was wanton to do. He took with him a couple of horse blankets wrapped under his arm. It was odd, but his men had become very familiar with odd, possibly even comfortable with it. Away from his men he used his torch to start his own smaller fire.

While the others slept, Mathias painted across the blankets in the strange archaic symbols which had become a second nature to him. He even traced some of the symbols and accentuations in his own blood. A couple hours later he returned to the main camp, and they were off again.

When they finally reached the outskirts of the area believed to be Otan's home, they regrouped with the soldiers that had remained stationed there. It was a thick forested swamp deep within an uninhabited swath of wilderness. The ten men gathered around Mathias, ready to follow his call to action. They had all become accustomed to incredible strangeness, but combat against monsters was still a harrowing concept to them.

"Each of you knows why you have been summoned to this mission. Summoned by myself, as well as a much higher power." Mathias played to all of their religious sensibilities. "Some of you have already seen what things we are up against. Unholy, ghastly things. Monsters, sent by Satan himself." His fervor was contagious, "We shall storm the home, fighting our way through any and all resistance. Then I will deal with the warlock inside."

There were several sudden murmurs as the men, who must have known the order was coming, were faced with the reality of what was set to occur. Not a one of them felt prepared for such a mission. All of them had faced combat, death. They had all taken lives, but this was a new realm, a new depth of conflict and fear. One of them spoke up, "Is this something we are capable of, sir? Even you?"

Mathias was again annoyed at the questions his men presented him with, but he elected to push harder on their religious proclivities, rather than attempt to push them of through fear of his wrath, "I fought in God's own army, led whole companies, whole sieges. I am divinely ordained to face such scenarios. This man will be far from the first of such heralds of the devil that I have stricken down, and he shall be far from the last as well."

It was just enough to do the trick. None of the men had been pushed to the point of eagerness, but they were all ready to follow their orders. They moved quietly in, closer to the old stone home. It seemed centuries old. It was without a doubt the lair of the mysterious Otan, the strange creatures Mathias's knight had told him about convinced him of that.

Slowly slouching about in front of the house, sloughing through the very muck that comprised them, were tall vaguely human shaped piles of animated mud. There were at least four of them clearly visible, and what appeared to possibly be more of them forming out of the ground. Buzzing around in greater number were massive flies the size of house cats, and on the ground crawled beetles as big as large dogs.

Mathias organized them into a single line, shoulder to shoulder, five men to each of his sides, eleven men altogether including himself. He had the horse blankets from the previous night rolled up and at his side. They walked at a quickened pace towards the old stone house. It did not take long for them to be noticed. The giant horse fly-like insects set upon them almost immediately. There were many more than the men had been able to see previously. Several dozen of them swarmed.

Mathias and his men all drew their swords. The insect creatures set upon them, but their carapace bodies were no match for cold steel. Even in such numbers, they were not able to put up too terrible of a fight. To a single man, or a much smaller force it may have been over whelming, but close to a dozen blades swirling through the air tore the bugs into pieces.

The beetles were quickly moving as well, and just as with the flies there were far more of them than Mathias and his men had anticipated. They picked up speed and leaped into the air, crashing into the troop with a surprising force. Several of the men were knocked to the ground, and the beetles quickly swarmed them, biting and tearing into their flesh.

The swords kept swinging. Fallen men screamed as the insect horrors feasted on them, tearing off flesh in hard armored mouths. Mathias pressed ahead of his men and stabbed his smaller blade down into the closest of the creatures in front of him. As he did he whispered in the ancient, inhuman language and previously invisible symbols lit up subtly on his blade. All of the beetles twitched and cried out, momentarily weakened. Mathias's men seized on the opportunity and pressed out against the creatures all the harder. Steel blades still did their work, though the beetles' chitin armor was significantly thicker than that of the flies.

Mathias could see the mud men up ahead, slowly shuffling towards them in a semblance of a gait that only semi-fluid creature with no true legs could approximate. Even at such a slow pace their was a vile horror to their movement. It would take them some time to reach his fighters, enough time to handle the insects. He pulled his blade out of the beetle, and quickly sliced off its head.

The knights had thinned out the beetles drastically, thanks to Mathias's secret spell. Though two of them now laid dead and partially eaten upon the ground, and a few more bore new injuries. After just a few more moments, and several dozen slashes and stabs, what remained of the monstrous beetles fled back into the forest. The mud men, however, slid ever closer. At this point Mathias could see a green ethereal mist that emanated around them. It occurred to him that it was the very same mist as had been within and around the animated armor. The one they had faced at Barten's stronghold years earlier.

"Charge them!" Mathias cried out, eager to move forward, ready to be done with the seemingly endless series of annoyances.

The men followed the order. Their were only about six or seven of the mud men in total, so there were still more than enough blades to go around. Unfortunately the blades made little impact on the creatures, as they bore no reaction whatsoever to being sliced or run through. One of them slammed its large, dripping, arm-like appendages together around its attackers head. It crushed the knight's skull like an egg, and he dropped to the ground, dead.

One of the mud men came for Mathias, swinging its large arm in a potentially devastating blow. He quickly darted around and chopped clear through the thing's incoming arm, severing it completely from the rest. It fell to the ground where it plopped and oozed away, losing its shape. He quickly stabbed into the now one armed creature and said the same inhuman incantation as before. Again the symbols lit up on the blade, and the mud man fell away into nothing more than a pile of wet earth.

"Sever off what you can!" Mathias called out to his men, "What is separated from the whole falls back to mere mud upon the ground!" With those words he sprinted forward, past the line of mud men, and toward the house. The men already knew what their mission was. Dispatch the mud men and any other creatures that showed up, and await Mathias outside of the house. The actual execution of the witch and exorcism of the land was his duty alone.

As he came to the door he kicked it violently. The restraint on the other side cracked but did not give way. Mathias kicked again and the door flew open. The inside was filled with symbols just like the ones in the cave, and the young druid's house, but here there were more. There were also many of the crystals, engraved stone tablets, dozens of scrolls and stacks of paper, even a few books. Across the room was a burning cauldron, behind it, stirring its ingredients with a large wooden spoon, stood Mathias's objective.

Otan was much as Mathias had expected him to be. An older man, at least in his late fifties, a long beard, a bald head. He wore no shirt, exposing an athletic build for a man his age, as well as a plethora a tattoos depicting the same types of symbols that adorned the house. He had a scar across his right eye that left it milky white. He stirred the cauldron and murmured to himself, not immediately reacting to Mathias's intrusion.

Mathias stepped further inward slowly, expecting further resistance. Just before he had made it halfway across, Otan acknowledged his presence, "So you, I take it, are the man that killed Luke, and likely Ren as well?" He asked somberly, seeming to already know the answer.

"They bought their own end's through their own deeds." Mathias answered ruthlessly.

Otan shook his head, and spoke with what seemed a long gnawing regret, "Ren I am sure. He was a fool, always willing to sell his greatest gifts to the highest bidder. Regardless of consequence." He turned and looked up at Mathias, and a surprising rage came into his eyes, "But Luke... no. Luke was a peaceful and simple soul. He never asked for anything more than what he needed. You are a murderer."

Mathias reacted to what was clearly more justified anger that was pressed against him. In his former life he might have felt guilt, or feared retribution from God, but the Mathias that stood before Otan was a very different man. His instinct was cruelty, "Then you will be sorry to know that it was his refusal to disclose your location that cost him his life."

Otan became visibly agitated, much angrier, almost pulling away from whatever it was he had brewing. He spoke with bitter, sorrow tinged words, "What is it that you want from me, sorcerer?" he demanded, instilling as much disgust into the last word as he could convey, "Have you merely come to slay me as well?"

Mathias smiled as he answered, "As I said to your pupil when trying to spare his life. It all depends very much on you. I am a seeker of knowledge."

Otan's rage boiled over, and he shouted his words "Any knowledge I could impart would run contrary to everything that you are! You have already broken all of my most sacred virtues!"

Mathias laughed, "It is not your virtues I seek, old fool." He stepped closer menacingly, his hand resting upon the handle of his blade, next to the blankets he had inscribed upon. "You and your pupils give life to that which has none. I have seen it multiple times now. It seems a useful skill. Or at the very least, the doorway to one."

"Ha!" Otan laughed a single loud laugh, as his anger shifted into his own cruel joy, "I knew it! I could smell it on you the moment you entered here! Your foolishness has cost you lives, has it boy? You reek of grief!" Driven to such revulsion he reveled in any torment he might provoke in Mathias.

Mathias was angered by the taunting, but he would not show it yet, "Is restoring life to those who have lost it really so different? Is it so beyond your grasp?"

Otan laughed even more, "Oh I could put something like life back into the rotten bones of your loved ones. But it would be far from something you would ever hope for." He was blatantly and horribly disrespectful, "I take it you are not completely inexperienced with the shambling, stinking undead?" He smiled and sarcastically asked, "Is that what you want for them? One last go at a dead wife, perhaps?"

Mathias stared death into the man's eyes. It took everything within him not to explode out and kill Otan where he stood. After a brief pause Otan continued, "No, I cannot seek out their souls and return them. Nor can I restore their ruined bodies. I would not even know where to begin. They are lost out somewhere among the cosmos, wherever such souls go." He stepped closer and looked Mathias more directly in the eyes, "Such feats would take a score of lifetimes to even know where to start."

Mathias smiled as his rage subsided. He had done it again, tactfully walked his adversary down the line of telling him things he wanted to know, without their realizing it, "And is that not something you might be able to accomplish? To so extend a lifespan?"

Otan's anger returned, "What you seek is the work of your ilk! Abusers of natural law! The druid do not concern themselves with such things!"

Mathias's tone grew colder, "Have none of you ever sought eternal life?"

"We have it!" Otan chided, like an exasperated parent to a horrible child, "As do all living things! What you seek is eternal imprisonment! Because you are a coward!" With that final exclamation Otan pulled the large spoon he had been using to mix the cauldron and hurled its boiling contents, seemingly at Mathias. He shouted out, "Nymphs nan eileamaidean, a tha gam dhion!"

The liquid contents missed Mathias and hit the floor, where they continued to sizzle and bubble. Mathias stepped forward, and suddenly a twirling, ice cold wind rose up from where the floor had been stained. It took on a light blue color, then quickly grew until it was taller than Mathias was himself. The ethereal blue energy coalesced into a somewhat humanoid shape, with a skull like head and a large upper body. It seemed to be made of ice and cold air.

On instinct Mathias slashed into the elemental creature. As his blade moved through it, it felt not entirely solid, like cutting through a pile of snow. The blade froze over completely, and became burning cold in Mathias's hand, he dropped it and it shattered upon the ground. The thing swung its arms to enveloped him, but Mathias quickly dove off to the side, rolling across the ground and back to his feet.

The frost elemental threw its arms back and blue icey energy started pulsing out of them. It brought its hands together, pointed directly at Mathias, and a ray of freezing ice blasted out from them. Mathias leaped again, just managing to escape the beam as it tore up through where he had been crouched, freezing everything it touched into brittle ice.

Mathias screamed out primally as he hurled one of the horse blankets open and onto the ground, near the elemental. It contained an intricate circle of symbols most similar to the ones Mathias had first worked with. The elemental shot another ray, this time a smaller one that came from a single hand. Again Mathias jumped and rolled across the floor, stopping right next to the marked blanket.

He slammed his hand down onto its center and screamed, "Nog hai! Ymg' mggoka goka!" A massive dark red flame-like circle erupted out from the one he had made on the blanket, and spread out across the floor, triple the diameter of the original. Mathias immediately pulled his hand away, and scrambled backwards to the wall.

Suddenly there was a terrible cry, an otherworldly shriek that seemed to rattle forth from everywhere at once. The elemental froze as what seemed something akin to fear came upon its skull-like face. In an instant, long spider-like tentacle legs, six in all, at least seven feet long each, stretched out from the burning circle upon the floor.

The tentacle-like appendages wrapped around the elemental, and gripped it tightly. It shrieked in terror and struggled, but could not break free. It cried out in a deep booming voice that similarly reverberated from multiple directions. After a brief moment of resistance the elemental spirit was dragged down through the sigil, and the fire-like glowing energy vanished.

Mathias was breathing somewhat heavily. He pulled himself back up to his feet, and dusted himself off. Otan was aghast, perhaps even in shock, but their was still plenty of rage to drive him on. Even more so after this latest blasphemy.

He screamed his own primal scream and kicked over his cauldron, sending it's boiling hot contents flooding across the floor. He snatched an old wooden staff leaning against the wall, and slammed it down in front of him, simultaneously making a guttural sound that could not even be described as words.

Suddenly the hot liquid upon the floor began to crackle with light purple lightning-like energy. The crystals around the room started brightly glowing the same color, and then the carven symbols, and Otan's tattoos as well. That same light came into Otan's eyes, and they glowed blindingly brightly. The house began to shake. Otan called out, his voice booming, trembling the entire building further, "How dare you commit such sins in my home!" The energy crackled all about, in and out of the crystals, the symbols, the liquid, and Otan himself.

Mathias threw the other two horse blankets out onto the floor. The three of them were arranged as if the points of a triangle. He pushed forward, attempting to jump into the center of them.

"No!' Otan called out even louder, extending his hand forward and channeling the energy into Mathias, who screamed out in pain and fell to his knees. "No more!' Otan continued with another full blast of the purple energy. Mathias's muscles jerked and his body twisted. His skin seared where the energy touched it. He barely managed to remain conscious.

Otan lifted his other hand, ready to channel enough energy into Mathias to end him completely. Mathias, somehow managing to push through the energy already running through him, shoved himself forward just enough to land where he needed to be. Otan launched the second stream of energy just as Mathias slammed his hands down. As his body ignited in a level of power that should have killed him, he managed out a single word, "H'ymg'."

All three circles lit up that deep dark red flame-like color as the one had before, and the purple energy of the room, the electric-like power, the glow of the crystals and symbols, even Otan's own tattoos, all instantly changed to the same dark red color. Otan screamed out in horrible agony, as if his heart itself were being ripped from his chest. It was the last thing Mathias saw and heard before losing consciousness completely.


	16. Chapter 16: Negotiations

**Chapter 16: Negotiations.**

Mathias opened his eyes, but for the first moment could see nothing but a white haze, feel nothing but a terrible ache all throughout his body. As his mind cleared, and his senses returned to him, he could see three of his men standing above him, looking down at him. They were outside the house, the white haze had been that of the overcast sky above.

He quickly pulled himself up into a seated position, groaning out in pain as he did. "No, sire!" One of the men closest to him called out as he leaned lower down next to him, putting out a restricting hand, "You should not move. You need to rest."

Mathias threw the man's arm aside and shouted, "Get out of my way!" He tried to pull himself up but his body gave out on him as an electric jolt of paralyzing pain shot through his entire skeleton. He screamed out, and almost fainted again. After several moments of gasping breaths, he won the fight for consciousness, at least temporarily.

He looked up at his men, "What... happened...?"

The same man that had restrained him spoke first, "Well... we are not entirely sure sir."

"We were hoping you could tell us..." Another of the men cut in, he was walking towards them from the house, "There is blood everywhere, bits of bone and flesh, skin... Not an ounce of the man is in one solid piece."

Mathias's memory of the event continued to sharpen. He had not been sure exactly what would happen when he gave Otan's summoned energies over to the eldritch horrors of the abyss, but he speculated their would be a transformation of power, and that it would have a devastating effect on the old druid. He had not however planned on falling unconscious, and being dragged out by his own men.

He saw the horse blankets, the ones inscribed in his own blood, rolled up, being carried out by more of his men. The one who had been questioning him noticed the gaze, "Yes... those were yours were they not? I am not surprised they catch your attention." The man's tone was heavily accusatory, "They have got what looks like witchcraft scrawled about them, in what looks like blood." He stepped forward, somewhat threateningly, "Didn't you take those blankets off by yourself last night?"

Mathias's resolve hardened to steel. It was a trait passed down from generations of his family. When things start to get out of hand, when a firm grip of control starts to loosen, that is the worst possible time to panic, the worst time to lose any more of that grip. If you do not immediately start the work of regaining your grasp, you will lose it completely, "What do you dare to insinuate of me?!" Mathias shouted angrily, "Out with it! I have no time for your games!" Semi-miraculously, Mathias pulled himself to his feet as he yelled, though he did need support from some of the others once he got there.

The man was slightly taken aback, seeming to have expected Mathias to shrink away at his thinly veiled accusations. He was not ready to be quite so completely direct, "Why have you got us hunting all these witches? What do you want from them?" The man still accused, but some of his self assuredness had melted away.

"Their deaths!" Mathias shouted in response, "Just as those I faced in God's name in the East!" he continued firmly, "Just as anyone who stands in the way of our holy charge." He looked directly into the man's eyes with the smoldering menace he had spent his life mastering.

The man shrunk back even more, "Yes... sir., erm... forgive me. I was vexed."

Mathias did not let up, "Retrieve what you can!" He barked the order, "We must learn if any others of this coven remain in the area."

"Sire." The man said, most sheepishly of anything yet, "We are just ready too burn the place to the ground. Is it not best to reduce it to ashes?"

Mathias's eyes widened with a rage he would have been good to hide, "Do not dare invoke orders in my absence." He took several long, staggering steps forward, pushing away those helping him, "Do you understand me?!" He shouted, louder still.

"Y... yes sir!" the man got out in response.

"Now go! This instant! You alone!" He pointed out to the house, "Empty the house of its contents! Have it all loaded and brought to my manor!"

The man did as told, and after about an hour of hard work Mathias allowed the others to help. The contents of the house were transported without incident, but Mathias men were suspicious now. His outburst had done well enough to quell any immediate questions or rebellion, but those questions were in the air, and could not be plucked out. His reaction, in the long term, would do him more harm than good.

As had been the case each time, even with the small troves they had acquired from local sooth sayers and medicine women, whole new avenues of knowledge would be opened. This cache had been among the biggest yet, easily the most informative since the old hag in the east. Once the work of loading it had been finished, Mathias was back in his library, examining the first of his findings.

Right away their was a great wealth of information on the animation of objects. The mud men, the armors, likely most cases of seemingly inanimate objects taking on a life of their own... they were all almost certainly related to the powers that Otan had traded in. Mathias would add of it what he could to his ever growing trove of knowledge and power. It was a drug to him, the gaining of such knowledge and such power. It was the only thing that could take his mind off of the horrors of his life, and somewhere, buried within all the information, was at least the lead to steps on the road to mending those problems as well.

Not ten minutes into his study a knock came at his door. Mathias annoyedly got up from his desk and went to answer it. It was one of his knights, a man named Benjamin. He was the only one of Mathias's current regiment that was from the original company that Mathias had founded. He trusted Benjamin, and liked him enough to have kept him out of direct conflict with the supernatural when possible. He had not been on any of the raids, though he helped in the work before and after them.

"What is it Benjamin? What do you need?" Mathias asked, his tone not quite as venomous as it would have been with anyone else.

"I am sorry Mathi... Sir. It is just..." He hesitated, it was clear that whatever he meant to say was not something that Mathias would not be happy to hear.

"It is alright Benjamin, tell me." He tried to sound calmer, but deep down he already knew what Benjamin was going to bring up.

"Yes, well, It is just... the others, they... Their faith in you, in our current mission... it is shaken." Benjamin spoke in frightened broken sentence fragments.

Mathias's demeanor grew colder as his mind raced. His face was as unmoving as stone, "What are they saying about me?"

Benjamin paused again, but quickly continued, "Some of them... they think that... that you practice black magic."

Mathias looked away slightly and exhaled through his nose. He turned back to Benjamin, "And what do you think Benjamin?"

"It is crazy!" Benjamin almost shouted out immediately, almost defensively, "If you did make those markings, I am sure it was something holy you learned back east." Benjamin tried to reassure both himself and Mathias.

Mathias was struck with inspiration, "Thank you Benjamin. But if you do not mind I must get back to my work. I promise you I will alleviate this situation. Thank you for bringing it to my attention, and for your continued faith in me."

"Of course sir." With those words Benjamin was quickly off and away.

Mathias turned and walked back towards his desk slowly. He could feel the quiet rage building inside of him, but then thought back onto what Benjamin had said. It was a decent enough explanation. Though it would require semi-perfect reproductions. Mathias appreciated a challenge outside of his wheel house, though it would take his concentration from his more important work.

He spent much of the following night working at reproducing the blankets he had used, only this time the symbols, still etched in blood, would be altered. This time he would inscribe angelic sigils pulled from various apocryphal texts. It was not a complete wash of his guilt, as such texts were, at best, not viewed positively by the church. This continued gleam of guilt would make it all the more believable.

The next afternoon Mathias summoned the whole of his current fighting force, over twenty men in all, into his library. He had sprawled out on the floor the altered reproductions of the horse blankets, spread bare for all to see. It was surprising to them, troubling even, especially to the man who had so challenged Mathias days before, a man whose name Mathias had been unsure of. He now knew that it was Gerard. Mathias stared Gerard down harder than any of the others. It was likely he had gotten the best look of the real symbols, and might be able to tell they were not the same.

"I would like to thank you all for meeting with me here." Mathias said cordially, feigning happiness even. It was a somewhat macabre and disturbing scene, with the painting of his dead wife and child hanging on the wall behind him. They seemed some how, less lively then they had when the painting had originally been painted, "I have summoned all of you here in the hopes of clearing some things up." He motioned down to the bloody sigils, "And I hope that once you understand, I will be able to count on your discretion."

The men were quiet, several of them even seemed afraid. Mathias continued, "As all of you surely know by now, we are in conflict with more than mere men. We stand against a power of the highest order..." Mathias's greatest tool for deception was his ability to weave lies and truth together enough for the real emotion to flow into the false narrative, "An enemy with which I became intimately familiar during my time in the East." He stared off out the window, almost forlornly.

After a brief pause he turned back to his men, "Just as I encountered these diabolical threats in the East, I was taught, by elders within the church, how to fight them." He motioned back down to the blood marked symbols, "Angelic sigils. Passed on to me from a high ranking Cardinal in Rome. These holy symbols, when properly inscribed, and with the proper prayers, can drive even the most vile demons out of God's kingdom, and back to hell."

He walked to his desk. The heels of his shoes clacked against the floor and echoed through the room, unencumbered due to the utter silence of the knights. Mathias grabbed an ancient looking book and opened it to the page he had marked off. He walked back to the men and showed them, "You can see them here in the book of Ecclesiasticus."

There were over two dozen different sigils in the book, including the three that marked the blankets on the floor. Mathias continued, "Now I know that the book of Ecclesiasticus is not a canonical book of the Bible. I know that in some circles it is thought of, at best, as inappropriate. But I also know, that it works. Iit works at driving out evil. It works at saving, at saving people from horrible things. I was shown all of this this in the Holy Land itself."

He passed the book out to Benjamin, who was standing closest to him, and nodded, signaling for him to pass it around, "It was, however, my decision to utilize such techniques here." He looked down with sorrow, then up at the painting of his lost family, "It seems that evil has festered here in the years of my absence." He turned back to the men, "If this is too much for any of you. If you wish not to be involved in such things, I understand. I am willing to grant early termination on any of your contracts, though you would of course forfeit any future payment or employ from me."

The men murmured to each other as they passed the books around and examined the blankets. Mathias's eyes subtly found their way, over and over again, to Gerard, who seemed wholly unconvinced. He squinted, straining his eyes as he examined the blood scrawled sigils. He seemed at least somewhat aware of their difference from the originals. Most of the men were nodding to each other, some were even laughing. Others, like Gerard, were not nearly as sure.

The ruse was incomplete, but serviceable. It had at the very least bought Mathias time. The time he needed to enact the second phase of the damnable situation he had fallen into. He blamed himself, for his hubris and arrogance. He would have to be much more careful, much more private moving forward. Especially given what was soon to happen, thanks to the reluctance of Gerard and the others to believe his half lie.

After another few minutes the men dispersed. For the most part, and for the moment, their curiosities were satisfied. When there were none of them left, he went back to his desk and pulled from it the true object of his current research. It was a stack of papers he had drawn up the night before, stacked together with notes from Otan.

On the top of the stack were the drawn out plans for a long sword, serrated on one side, lined with strange markings and symbols. He spent the rest of the day reading through the old druid's notes and making alterations to the plans. It was all about the symbols, getting them exactly right, placed in exactly the right place and formation.

Just after dawn the next morning Mathias made haste in his carriage, blowing out from his home like a damned soul escaping the fires of hell. He had a bit of a journey ahead of him, as according to his research on the matter none of the local black smith's would do. Not even in the closer neighboring villages was their a craftsman of the necessary skill. After traveling almost the entirety of the day, he arrived in to a city on the southern border of Bourbon.

The town of Armandaeu was mostly unexceptional. It was not a large city, nor merely a town. It was little more than a stopping point for merchants and royalty on the go. What it did have however, was one of the most exquisite and sought after black smiths in the whole country. His work was considered a mix of perfect craftsmanship and high art. He was frequented by the highest levels of society, and often backed up by a year or more on his projects.

Mathias pulled up in front of the shop at dusk, as the last golden beams of light from the sun shown over the horizon. He stepped out of his carriage with the stack of papers in one hand, and a sack of gold coins in the other. He got to the door just as a shop hand was starting to lock it up. Mathias pressed against the door, as the shop hand pressed again the other side.

"Excuse me." Mathias offered through the thin wood, "I have traveled far, and I was hoping to speak with Master Fabron. It is of the utmost urgency."

"I am sorry!" The man called from the other side, "Shop is closed for the day!" It appeared that success did not bring with it any sense of humbleness or an abundance of kindness. Mathias knew that something else would.

He shook the bag of coins vigorously. The sound easily caught the man's attention. The lock clicked, and the door opened. Mathias smiled, "A wise business man you are."

He was brought inside, where he could admire the immaculate craftsmanship of the man's work. Weapons, armors, decorative works, even metal furniture. It was a sight to behold, its own type of sorcery. After a couple minutes Master Lucas Fabron, the great and beloved artist, arrived. He appeared as if he had already begun to shed his work attire for an outfit more suited to a wealthy man's night out.

"One would assume." Lucas said as he entered. Mathias did not break his gaze from the man's work, "That if one had a job of 'the utmost urgency' that they could arrive before my shop has closed."

Mathias waited for the man to stop speaking, then waited a bit longer, before talking to, but not answering him, "Your work is impeccable." He grabbed a sword from its rack and examined the blade, "Not quite as good as what I might find in Paris or London, but you will more than do."

Lucas was insulted, "Get out of here. I am done for the night. If you really need my business you can come back when I open up shop again. I was thinking about taking the week off."

Mathias chuckled as he turned to face Lucas, we was still holding the sword. His overtly intimidating presence and posture suddenly rocked into Lucas. Without Mathias saying a word, Lucas changed his tune, "How much gold have you got?"

"More than your average commission. Much more." Mathias said dryly, as he placed the sword back down, then took a step closer to Lucas, and to a beautifully crafted battle axe.

"I have a long line of business already. I would not be able to get to what you need for... two or three months at least." Lucas said.

"That is unacceptable. I need it done within the week," Mathias extended his hand, holding the sketches and notes he had produced. Lucas reached out and took them, shaking his head. Mathias continued, "Every piece must be absolutely perfectly to specifications. Not a single imperfection."

Lucas's disrespectful tone returned, as he scoffed, ruffling through the pages "Out of the question. This amount of work..." He shook his head as he continued looking through Mathias's drawn up plans. His words took on a sense of anger, "You are asking me to put off nobility, royalty even." He handed the papers back to Mathias.

Mathias pushed them back away towards Lucas, and tossed the sack of gold. It jingled upon the floor as a pile of the bright shining currency spilled out onto the floor. It was considerably more than such a job would normally fetch, "I believe I can persuade you to see that my needs are far more urgent than even the commands of kings."

Lucas pressed the papers back out, shaking his head, refusing more out of his ego than any kind of fiscal logic, "I am sorry. I cannot accept this job. I cannot meet your parameters."

Mathias smiled, as another small chuckle escaped his mouth, "Are you local, Mister Fabron? Are you from this area?"

Lucas seemed confused he shook his head, "What are you on about?"

"A simple question sir. Are you familiar with the goings on in these lands? In the surrounding areas?" Mathias was digging for something.

"I am familiar enough. I hear things." He seemed to answer more out of curiosity than anything else.

"I wonder if you have heard of Baron Mathias Cronqvist." Mathias asked with a somewhat menacing tone.

Lucas squinted as he searched his mind, "Cronqvist... I have heard the name."

"Maybe, 'The Dragon' will help to bring it out?" Mathias's tone became more and more sinister.

Lucas's eyes widened, "Yes... Yes. Lord Cronqvist, the Dragon. Something of a brutal warlord I believe. There was more I think, from before."

Mathias was caught off guard and turned his head slightly. He remained silent as Lucas searched his mind, "Yes, yes... the family. The name. It's a bad name in some circles." He looked at Mathias somewhat concernedly, "Is that your problem? You need these to... to fight against The Dragon?" he shook the papers, motioning to them as he spoke.

Mathias stepped forward and the shadows of the room seemed to move with him, he almost shouted his words as his threatening demeanor reached a fever pitch, "I AM The Dragon!" He gripped the axe and lifted it off of its rack. Lucas instinctively pulled back. The tension of the room seemed to come to life, to became a horrible entity that stood just out of sight behind Mathias, and peered down on the black smith through him.

Mathias stood, still as a statue, holding the axe, blade down, firmly in his hand, down by the side of his waist, and stared into Lucas's eyes with all the menace he had in the past reserved for those he meant to slay. Neither of them moved for several moments, save for the constant dramatic rising and falling of Lucas's chest in labored breaths.

"Wait here." Mathias said suddenly, then he loudly slammed the axe back into its rack, causing Lucas to flinch. Mathias walked to the door, opened it, and left the shop. Lucas stood frozen in terror, eyes locked onto the door, preying internally that it did not open again. Less than a minuted later it did, and Mathias entered with two more bags of gold, each one bigger than the initial. He threw them down on the floor, and gold cascaded out of them in a similar fashion.

"I take it this will be a sufficient payment?" Mathias stepped forward closer to Lucas, "Or shall I bring more upon completion?"

Lucas was struck speechless. The first bag alone would have covered more than double what he would normally ask for such a complex and speedy job. His stomach was twisted in knots of desire and fear. He looked at Mathias, eyes agape and watery. All he knew was that he wanted him to leave, "Alright."

Mathias smiled happily, "Excellent. I will return in five days. See that it is done by then. Remember, it must be perfect to my specifications. Not a single flaw."

Lucas nodded, "Yes sir." With that, Mathias took his leave. Lucas shrunk back against the wall and slowly slumped down it until he was sitting. He was shivering. The gold sat spilled all across the floor. Lucas started to weep, Mathias's designs clutched tightly in his hands.


	17. Chapter 17: A Change of Seasons

**Chapter 17: A Change of Seasons.**

As days passed, Mathias's story to his men about the sigils was wearing thinner and thinner on them. Some had already brushed it off, not concerned or interested enough to give it much thought, they fought for Mathias for money, and so long as they received that money they would continue. Others, those who considered themselves more morally righteous, felt a picking at their minds and souls. They had felt something off since the beginning, and with each passing mission things became stranger, and darker.

They were almost immediately meeting in secrecy, a gathering group of suspicious would be conspirators. Mathias was well aware that this would happen, it was the reason he had already set things into motion. He knew the solution to his problem. He was perhaps the greatest problem solver alive in his time. It was like an infection, which had to be seen to quickly, lest it spread further.

One week after the meeting where Mathias had tried to explain himself he summoned his men for their next mission. Almost all of them appeared, even those who doubted him needed the money his work paid them. The only person missing was Benjamin. The men were all gathered in the main hall of Mathias's home. He would no longer invite others into his library, it had become too stuffed with forbidden esoteric books and artifacts, and he would risk no more suspicion.

"I know that some your hearts still falter." Mathias said to them as he came down the stairs, "I know that you still doubt me and our mission." His eyes passed around, focusing primarily on Gerard and the others he suspected had lost their faith in him, "I hope that you will see the direness in what I have brought before you today, the unquestionable evil of what we must face, and how necessary it is for us to stop it."

All the men's gazes became more stern, some worried. They murmured among each other in anticipation. Mathias continued, "Two nights ago, there appeared a black knight in the village of Limehal. He slaughtered their local guard, and anyone else who was unlucky enough to cross his path. He then displayed his victims entrails along the roads of the central square."

The men's gazes hardened even further, as terror and disgust flashed across their eyes. Mathias continued, "This alone would be cause enough for action, but last night, the same dark knight came upon Beves, and performed almost identical sacrilege." The men's eyes widened even further, "I do not need to tell any of you, that the next village in that trajectory is our own."

The soldiers stood hardened, fear turning to anger, to pride and conviction. As Mathias's next words came out the men almost chanted with him, their adrenaline rising in their veins, "We must go at once, to meet this threat before it can arrive. He will be upon us by night fall. Or rather he would, but we will hunt him down and slay him before he ever steps foot in our home."

The men were rallied, some of them had already heard the rumored whispers, even those that doubted Mathias easily counted this as a worthy cause. Gerard was the one exception. Something about it all still sat unwell with him. As the others went outside to prepare themselves to be off, Gerard stayed, and waited until he was alone with Mathias.

"Sir..." He asked respectfully. Mathias turned to face him, without a word. After a moment Gerard continued, "Where is Benjamin?"

A part of Mathias, a part that felt almost as if it were whispering in his ear, told him to kill the defiant man right where he stood, in that very moment. He would later wonder if that strange whispering in his mind were a part of him at all, or something else. In the moment he decided to rely on a skill that had proven far more deadly than his combat ability. Once again Mathias used truths to tell lies.

"Benjamin would have liked to be here, but I have other requirements, other duties that must be seen to." He paused for a moment, before delivering the last line with a thinly veiled righteous anger that somehow made him seem all the more innocent, "Sadly, with so much of my forces required for this new development, there is only one among you that I trust to handle such a mission on his own." He could all but change reality with his words alone.

Gerard's face looked like that of a scolded child. He bowed, and muttered out incomplete words, approximating a shameful toned 'yes sir,' then quickly pulled away and was out the door. Mathias stared through him for long after he was gone. He was ready to be rid of such vexation.

Just a few hours later, when the sun was starting to get low in the sky, Mathias's men were positioned and waiting in the forest northwest of the village, the direction of the two others that had been attacked. A well traveled dirt path cut through the old woods. They did not expect such a fiend to trod on the roads of man, but to reach their village by nightfall he could not pass far from it. The men were spread wide, on both sides, wide enough to cast their eyes on a great expanse of forest, but close enough to call out for aid should they find what it is they are looking for.

Mathias stood near the center, near the road. It seemed at first a cowardly thing, given the unlikeliness of encountering the knight there. Further thought however revealed the truth, that without knowing where this knight would show up, it was the only position that would never be far. It stoked the respect his men already had for him, but he knew that that would fade. Seeds of doubt had been planted in their minds, and they were seeds of truth. There was no putting them back in the box now.

Just when the last glowing sliver of the sun had dropped below the horizon, there was a scream, a desperate, terrifying scream. It was one of Mathias's men, and it was undoubtedly a scream of horrific pain. All the men took off in the direction from which it had come. Those closest hesitated. They were all battle hardened soldiers, knights, but the screams of their comrade were a terrible paralyzing force. When they finally pushed forward, Mathias and more of his men were not far behind.

When they reached their destination, there was no sign of their target, other than the mutilated corpse of one of their own. He was shred in half, seemingly far from a clean strike. The men, whose swords had all already been pulled, turned out to the forest, staring out in all directions. Mathias bent down by the severed soldier as the very last light went out of his eyes.

He stood up and looked out into the forest as well, grave concern mixed with anger on his face, "Fan out, in threes, he cannot have gone far."

The men were immediately off into the trees, eyes scanning, ears listening. Each one of them pushed by fear and the need for retribution. The forest had become deathly quiet. Not a single bird nor insect made a sound. Mathias, with two of his men at his side, both holding lit torches, marched out farthest of all.

After just a few short moments there came more screaming, accompanied by the sounds of tearing flesh, and the clinking of blades against something hard, something metal. Again all the other knights converged on the spot the screams and other sounds were coming from. Only to find two the soldiers dead, much like the previous, and the third grievously injured, struggling to stand, a horrible torn gash down his right shoulder and into his chest.

The first group of three that arrived grabbed him and bore his weight. He was stammering, trying to speak but unable, either from pain, blood loss, or both. As the dying man still lived, more screams came, from the farthest group, who had not yet arrived. They were still a short distance out in the trees. This time no one ran, no one hurried to them. All turned, pointed their weapons, and held their ground.

They were a full twenty men still, counting Mathias, not counting those currently screaming out into the wind, the last words they would ever speak. Gerard also still lived. He was as close to panic as he had been since childhood. It had become terribly dark terribly quickly, and the six or so torches spread between them only lit the forest a short distance in front of them. They all stood frozen in place, well after the screams had stopped. The survivor of the previous attack quickly perished from his wounds.

Mathias struggled to come up with an order, or at least appeared to, "Stay... stay together." He stared out into the dark woods just like all the rest of them.

Gerard moved closer to him, the panic in his voice unmasked, "Sir! Your sigils! Your angelic sigils! Use them now!" The others quickly and emphatically agreed.

Mathias's expression grew pained, regret burned from his eyes, "I... do not have them..." He looked around the men shamefully, "I am sorry, it is just... they caused such trouble." He looked back out to his men, almost caringly, "They caused you all to doubt me."

The men's emotional state pushed them quickly to anger, but not at Mathias. The subject of their fury was Gerard himself, the man who had stoked the doubt among them. He had done it openly, more than once. He shrunk away, face twisting as if he were about to cry. Several of the men shoved him, a couple of them even pointed their weapons.

Mathias stopped them, "Fools!" He shouted angrily, "This is the worst imaginable time for us to fight among ours-"

Mathias was cut off by a loud crunching of twigs just out side their torches' reach. Everyone's attention, including Mathias's, was instantly pulled away. They dropped silent, some even holding their breath. The anticipation of the sounds repeat, or worse still the appearance of this knight, drove each of them slightly mad.

A quick commotion from the trees behind, a shower of blood, more horrific screams, and the terrible knight had appeared from behind them. A dark, almost black suit of armor covered him from head to toe, it was stained in blood going back days. He held a great two handed sword, serrated on one edge. He had already rended another man in two.

As every blade that remained in the company flew toward him, he slashed out into another, claiming one more life before the torrent of swords struck and ricocheted off of his impossibly thick armor. Before second strikes could be struck, a majority of the men took off running into the darkness. The dark knight quickly disappeared back into the trees. Gerard remained close to Mathias.

Mathias shouted out to the deserters, "You fools! He is coming for you!"

It did not take long for more screams to come, along with sounds similar to those of a butcher shop. It was butchery. The scene grew grimmer, as the number of surviving soldiers dropped lower and lower. In a handful of minutes all the knights that had fled were gone. All attempts at self defense had proven useless against the hard, thick, metal armor of the cursed unholy knight. They left nary scratches. He was not slowed at all.

There were only seven of them that remained, and they all stood huddled close around Mathias, backs to one another. They were all in full panic, all save Mathias, who somehow managed to keep his wits about him. One of the men called out, "Sir! What can we do?!"

"Pray." Mathias said sternly, his eyes fixed out into the darkness.

Suddenly there was another crunching of the dried forest undergrowth, and the men all turned dramatically to face it, and again as all eyes turned to one direction, the dark knight came from the other.

This time, he stabbed forward, running one of the men straight through the abdomen, the serrated side of the sword pointing up. Just as everyone turned to see, and the screaming started, the dark knight ripped its blade up, tearing all the way out of the man's body. Blood sprayed over them all, and after a moment of shock ridden paralysis they all attacked with the kind of pure mania that only those facing certain death can.

Mathias stared down the iron clad warrior with the eyes of hell, but they were not enough. The knight was going for speed now, seemingly hoping to finish up quickly. The swords of the men bounced off of him like children's toys. He returned their feeble attacks with terrible brutality. In two more swings of his sword, as many men were slain.

It continued this way until only Mathias and Gerard were left standing. The dark knight took slow, menacing steps toward them as they pulled away. Gerard was screaming, whaling into the wind as he weeped violently and begged for his life. Mathias maintained his dignity. The knight leaped out, swinging its dreadful sword, Gerard pulled back, but a mere inch of the blade caught his neck, slicing it clear across. He reached up and grabbed his throat as he choked and gargled on the blood spilled from and into it. He fell to the ground.

Only Mathias remained. He stood resolute, staring into the infernal warrior that had made quick and easy work of his men. His gaze showed no fear.

Just over an hour later, Mathias was back in his library. Standing at his desk, staring off into nothingness with a hint of madness in his eyes, seemingly lost in harrowing thoughts or memories. He had changed out of his blood stained clothes, and wore a less refined pair of trousers and shirt, that would only ever be suitable for lounging in ones own home. He fell into his chair, and almost unconscious. There were things he should have felt, yet did not, but he did not feel nothing.

There was suddenly a knock at the door. He knew it could only be one of the servants, "Come in." He called out. There was nothing too damning out in the open. He had seen to that.

One of his house maids opened the door. She stood in the doorway, looking particularly frightened, but not of anything elsewhere in the house, or without. Mathias's servants had come to fear him greatly, "S... sire..." She said sheepishly, before continuing, "There is... someone here to see you. Someone from the monastery..."

Mathias stood up again as he almost panicked, "Who?"

"I..." The woman still struggled with her words.

Mathias was in no mooed for it, "Dammit woman can you not speak?!" He shouted angrily.

She recoiled at his words as tears streamed down her face, she finished her answer through sobs, "I... I believe it is... the Abbot."

Mathias was shocked silent for a moment. The current Abbot was Father Markus, the very man who had raised both he and Leon for the whole of their lives within the Chateau Du San Ursula. It was not terribly late, but his presence could mean nothing good. Finally he responded to his weeping servant, "Have one of the other girls see him in. Bring him here to me."

Abbot Markus was an elderly man by this point, but he retained a strong vitality uncharacteristic of those lucky enough to reach such an age. He walked into the room heartily, a grave expression on his face. Mathias was standing at his desk, he addressed his guest as he entered, "Father Markus... it is a pleasure to see you. What brings you to my home at such an hour?"

The abbot did not immediately answer. He looked at Mathias with a fusion of care and concern. He sighed heavily and finally answered, "Mathias, my son..." There was an obvious familiarity, "I have come to speak with you, about some very concerning things that I have been told recently."

Mathias stared at the closest thing he ever had to a real father, including his own, in stunned silence, terrified of what his next words would mean.

The abbot continued, "Some of your men, particularly Gerard, have spoken to me of strange symbols and incantations. Of what appeared to them, like black magic."

Mathias's expression hardened against his will, this was one of the few beings left on earth that could so naturally effect his mood.

The abbot continued, "And further still... that you claimed it to be... some type of angelic sorcery?" The abbot's voice raised as his face twisted in something akin to anger, "A blasphemous concept in and of itself."

"Father I-" Mathias tried to deflect, to use his silver tongue, but the abbot cut him off with a sternly raised hand.

"I have not come for justifications." He looked around the room, "Where are your men? I mean to speak more with Gerard as well."

Mathias felt what seemed a rock sinking into his stomach. The abbot had made it clear that he wanted no attempted explanations, so he offered none, merely answered the question, "They are right now in the middle of an important mission, indisposed." His own tone held a sense of unhappiness as well, and a sharp edge.

"When will they return?" The abbot asked quick and forcefully.

Mathias paused, "Tomorrow." He lied, though it was likely parts of them would be retrieved by then.

"Very well." The abbot said, before turning as if to leave. He stopped just shy of the door, and turned back to Mathias, "Son, I hope this is all a terrible misunderstanding. But I plan on recommending an inquisition into witchcraft."

"Father-" Mathis began to say angrily, but again was cut off.

"If you are innocent you have nothing to fear." Abbot Markus had been the first to take Mathias in upon his arrival, had worked to make him feel welcome, he had been the one who stood by his side at the death of Elisabetha, he was perhaps the only person left in the world that could silence him With those final words he took his leave.

Mathias remained at his desk unmoving as he listened to the abbot's foot steps pass through the house, to the door. After he had left the house, Mathias slowly walked to one of the far book shelves. He reached up to the side frame corner, and pulled it. The bookcase slid to the side, behind the one to its right.

Standing there in the hidden chamber, completely motionless, was the seemingly lifeless dark knight from the forest, the blood of Mathias's men still all over it. Mathias looked into what would be the thing's face and spoke, "You have done very well tonight, Benjamin..." He peaked over its shoulder, to Benjamin's dead body that lied on the floor behind it, then back to the armor, "But there is one more thing you must do before you can rest for the night."

The iron puppet, enriched with Benjamin's loyal soul, stepped slowly to life out of the small secret room. Slowly making his way toward his next victim.


	18. Chapter 18: Past Lives

**Chapter 18: Past Lives.**

It was a shock to no one when the old Abbott was found dead. He was old, tired, not in the best health, and those close to him knew that he had been troubled for a time, exacerbating all of his other problems. No one questioned the deaths of the soldiers either. It was the soldier's lot in life to die in combat. No one questioned Mathias at all. He had orchestrated everything perfectly, as he always did, avoiding any suspicion, and getting exactly what he wanted.

For weeks after disposing of his own forces, and the Abbott, Mathias spent the days and nights locked in deep study. As he worked to master the newest arts under his control, he also searched for more. He had a plan, somewhat fully formed. What he did not yet have were the means, but he was certain they were out there, as he was certain Benjamin could offer him even more aid than the entirety of his human force had, and he no longer needed to act in such secrecy. His pace untethered, he could develop his skills much faster.

In his research he had come to learn of a strange hermit mystic who lived to the north, across the border into Lower Lotharingia. The man was said to be centuries old. Indeed Mathias had come across credible accounts of the sage's black magic dating back over a hundred years, and as recently as months ago. He would meet with this man, find out what he knew. He was already making preparations to be off.

One afternoon, the very day before he planned to leave, one of the few remaining servants of the house came knocking at the doors of his study. Mathias looked up at the old wooden barriers angrily. He had always hated to be interrupted, and this grew worse, as everything about him did, though he knew that if a servant dared disturb him it was for good reason.

"Come in." He shouted loud enough to be firmly heard. His desk was still adorned in the workings of the supernatural. He was done hiding in his own home, those that remained in his employ understood enough to not dare cross him.

The door opened slowly. An older woman stepped inside. She seemed to avert her gaze slightly, likely afraid she would see something her master did not want her to. She did not say anything, possibly out of fear, or merely subservience.

"What is it?" Mathias asked loud and impatiently, a stiff angry edge in his tone.

"You... you have a visitor sir." She said.

Mathias shifted slightly in his chair, and gazed at her questioningly. He wondered who it could be, but decided against caring, "Send them away." He said, not quite as sure of himself.

"Of course, sir." She bowed and quickly turned to leave.

"Wait." Mathias called out suddenly, as something inside him begged. The woman stopped in her tracks, her back to him. She did not turn around. Mathias continued, "Who is it?"

The servant turned her head just enough that her voice would be well heard, "A village woman... Sara Trantoul... she said was her name."

He stood up suddenly, his chair screeched across the floor behind him. His heart was racing. It had been some time since he had been so taken by surprise. He stammered before responding clearly, "Send... Give me a moment. Then send her to my chamber."

"Yes, of course sir." The woman said before rushing off without being dismissed. It seemed merely standing in Mathias's presence had become a harrowing experience for those most familiar with him now. They dreaded any interaction.

He choked up as a strange rush of long dormant emotions swept over him. Sara was an extension of Leon, his brother, his family that yet lived. He suddenly realized how long it had been since he had even thought of him.

He was quickly off to his chamber, where he changed into simple night wear and arrested himself to the bed. With a quick incantation he took on the appearance of severe illness. Soon a knock came to the door. When Mathias spoke this time, his voice carried a pitiful wincing groan like that of a dying man.

"Come in." He said, and the door opened.

The same servant as before was standing beside Sara, who was as lovely as ever. A look of horrified worry shot over her face when she saw him. As did a wholly different type of horror over that of the servant, who had seen Mathias in perfect health moments before.

"Leave us." Mathias said to her, and she quickly obliged.

The door closed, and the two of them were alone. Tears were welling in Sara's eyes, she struggled to speak, "Mathias, I..."

He cut in when she paused, not wanting to torment her so, "Sara, it does me well to see you."

"I am so sorry for your loss." She was struck by the apparent effect on Mathias's body. Even being an illusion it was a truer view into what had become of his soul.

He nodded, and winced, the pain welling up once again. His work had kept his mind busy, at bay. Here, now, it was open, and his lost family came rushing in again, "Sara..." His voice broke, and to his shock he could not continue.

"I'm sorry." She sobbed, "I'm sorry, I did not mean to drudge anything up. I'm sorry I did not come sooner..." She gained a little more control of herself, "I have been mourning, myself."

"Of course." He managed out softly, "She was like a sister to you." Sara was suddenly infinitely more important to him. He had not realized, but she was his strongest link not only to Leon, but Elisabetha as well. A bitter thought suddenly burst into his mind, and demanded to be asked, "Were you there?"

She seemed confused, and was still crying, if not as strongly, "What do you mean?"

He gaze was frozen, holding back a terrible pain, "When she passed... were you there?"

More tears came to her eyes, "I was."

"How..." He choked more as his emotions fought to silence him, but he had to know, "How was she? Was she... ok? Did she know?"

Sara sighed softly, "She was, and... she did. She left us peacefully."

Mathias's tears streamed down his face in singular lines, one or two at a time, "Did she say anything to you? In those final moments?"

"She..." Her composure withered slightly, "She asked me to hold... Adrian. She hadn't the strength." She sobbed harder, "Such a beautiful boy."

Mathias was somehow knocked down ever further. She was one of the only other people that ever looked upon his living son, that ever touched him, and held him, and loved him. Had he done anything to legitimately process his grief, such a conversation may have been cathartic, done him well. As it was it did nothing but bring him back to the ruins of his life. He was laid bare and shattered anew.

"Mathias..." She called his attention. He looked at her but said nothing. She continued, "I've received a letter from Leon. He's asked me to deliver it to you personally." She pulled a folded paper from her wast, took a few steps toward the bed and handed it to him.

He stared down at it as if it were made of gold. In truth he considered it significantly more valuable. He could already see the familiarly terrible hand writing through the paper. He had taught Leon how to write, himself, though he had never quite mastered it to Mathias's level.

"Would you like me to stay with you a while, Mathias?" Sara asked caringly.

"No." He said almost immediately, "I'm sorry, I know this house only serves to remind you of the friend you have lost. I'll not torture you with it, as it tortures me."

Her expression grew in sorrow, fueled by guilt, "Would it not do you good to spend some time away?"

Mathias stared out blankly, "There is no good left in my life. Cling to your own, Sara. You never know when it might be stolen from you." He looked over to her, into her eyes, "Live and love, for her, and for me, and for Adrian. I thank you very much for delivering me this letter, but do not worry about me. You may take your leave."

Sara bowed, and made her exit. When the door closed, Mathias's hand balled into a fist around the letter. He did not mean to damage it, but the months of buried emotions had erupted. Once Sara was out of the house he screamed into the walls, shaking the very foundations with his grief. He could not move himself from the bed for days.

When a semblance of life finally returned to him, he went back to the letter, still crumpled on his sheets. He finally unfolded it, and read it's contents.

" _My dearest brother,_

 _Words have never been my strong suit, and here any and all of them would prove utterly insufficient. My heart is destroyed for your loss. I would give everything I have to be there with you, brother. Sadly you know how the church is in such matters. They have refused all of my requests. I cannot fathom the depths of your sorrow, even as one who has faced so much of it myself. Even as one who has known you truer than all others in all the world, I know that I can only fail in alleviating this pain. Perhaps all I can tell you is that I am here, even now in your darkest moments, even with nations between us. I am here. We are family. You are not alone, and as long as my heart still beats you never will be. I will come to mourn at your side the very moment that I am able._

 _With all the love of my soul, Leon."_

It created such conflicting feelings. What did warmth mean to him now? Having come so far, what kind of relationship could he hope to have with Leon after all this? The things he had done played through his mind, suddenly with a semblance of his conscience returned. He was horrified, both at his own actions, and how Leon would certainly react to them.

He had spent the last several months bereft of guilt, mercy, any thought for the lives of anyone but himself. The prospect of a reunion with Leon now brought only panic. He had killed Abbott Markus, the closest person either of them had to a father, butchered his own men, and countless other sins before them. He wondered how he could have fallen so far. He remained bedridden for weeks.

As his own sins, the death of his family, the guilt, sorrow, and fear all swirled around in his heart and soul, pulling him into a vortex of a different possibly even more horrible darkness, Mathias's mind managed to realign itself, to start the process of pulling him back. It repeated to him over and over again, what had become like his motto, 'everything else is secondary.' He had to get back to his work. He had already spent much too long away from it.

He pulled himself out of his bed, robes and sheets dragging along the floor behind him. The illusory appearance had become the real. Mathias was a withered, sickly, almost dying man. He hobbled into his study, where his materials and books remained exactly where he had left them the night Sara arrived. He went back to them, after performing a few bettering incantations on himself.

He had been chasing the possibility of potentially solving both problems at once, but thus far it had led to little. He had yet uncovered a single means of extending his life, and it came with dire consequences. It was essentially as he had done with Benjamin, only more efficient, more perfect. It was not what he wanted, and costs far too great. He would not stride the ages as a life-like living doll, constantly repairing and reinforcing himself, and he would not accept such an eternity for his family either.

It was a sense of defeat he had forgotten under the weight of his far grander grief. Together they compounded, and crushed him down even further. That lifelong infernal drive forward born of his forefathers struggled against his consolidated tragedy.

He looked up at the portrait of Elisabetha and Adrian, "I'm sorry..." He said to them, as despair overtook him further. A part of him felt ready for the fires of hell, that he deserved them. He was almost ready to let go, but the thought of his two most beloved, forever separated from him and each other, it was too much. The thought of God, of all he had done for him, who had set him on this dreadful bloody path, and how his loved ones had been so unjustly punished for it. He could not give him the satisfaction.

He turned back down to his notes, books, all the items spread across his desk, then to his shelves, at the myriad other esoteric writings and artifacts he had collected. It was a cache of knowledge unrivaled in the region, but he knew there was much more out there. All he had to do was remain strong, and push forward.

"Everything else is secondary." He said to himself.

"Well what's it going to be?" A strange shrill voice suddenly called out from inside the room. Mathias turned surprisedly, looking around to find who had entered his study. There was no one to be seen.

"What in hell?" He called out, unsure of what exactly was happening. He was sure at least that magic was afoot.

Suddenly the image of an old man appeared, almost like a ghost, transparent and wispy. He had a short beard, and was dressed in long, slightly tattered robes, and wore a pointed, old, worn hat, "Are you coming or not?" He asked, somewhat annoyed. Mathias was stunned, and did not immediately respond, the ghostly man continued, "I have been expecting you for weeks now, what is the hold up?"

Mathias suddenly realized who it was that had entered his study, and that he had not really entered it at all "You are the supposed sorcerer of Lower Lotharingia? Munatius?"

The aged wizard laughed, "Supposed am I? Do man guests come to visit you in astral form?" He laughed harder, "Supposed, I like that."

"How do you know of me?" Mathias demanded.

Munatius laughed again, "Well I suppose it could be part of the very reason you were interested in coming to see me, which brings me back to really all I care to discuss here and now... Are you coming?"

Mathias stared at the apparition before him, and was incredibly intrigued by it. He knew what his mission was, "Yes."

"Very well then." Munatius said, "Be quick about it. You are not the only would be world ender in need of a little mentoring you know. I am a very busy man." With those words he laughed heartily, and then vanished.

Mathias remained somewhat taken aback, but even more interested. There was indeed much more for him to learn, and it seemed readily available to him. It meant much more possibilities. He would start with this Munatius Perhaps he did not need to kill all other magi in order to gain their knowledge, at least not when they offered it up so freely.


	19. Chapter 19: Stranger Things

**Chapter 19: Stranger Things.**

The trip to Lower Lotharinga was, for the most part, an uneventful carriage ride. Mathias traveled alone, save the strange tall driver, who wore a long all concealing coat and a big hat. The solitude gave Mathias ample time to research his host and destination further. He meant to know everything he could about them before arriving.

As it stood he had come across credible accounts that placed the old sage as far back as two hundred years. His name was clearly Latin in origin, even if unusual for the tongue. It hinted at even greater age, as did where he resided. He was said to live in a semi-ruinous castle by the sea, built by the Romans a thousand years ago. Officially it had been abandoned for centuries. Few dared go near it.

The stories claimed that he was a powerful old wizard, who worked dark magic deep in his decrepit keep. It was said that he could summon demons, place and lift curses, even grant magical favors, but almost always at a hefty cost. The people feared him, as most who ventured to his domicile never returned, and if they did were forever changed.

On top of all the contextual evidence was what Mathias himself had seen already. Munatius was capable of feats, involving the soul, like he had never seen before, that he did not yet understand. New information was important, and it had been offered freely. He knew it was a risk, given the supposed history of the place, but if things were to go sour, he was prepared.

As they traveled through the woods, approaching the coastline that would lead them to their destination, the harness connecting the horses to the rest of the carriage broke away suddenly. The horses at the same time both went mad, tearing off away like they had seen the devil. Mathias sat and pondered for a moment, imagining it was all tied to Munatius, or the possibly the history of the grounds in which he resided..

He exited the carriage and nodded up at the driver, who stood and threw off the coat, revealing the iron puppet that now housed what remained of Benjamin's soul. He was all the weapon Mathias required. The two of them headed off through the woods, toward the cliffs that would take them to the castle. He was grateful for the guardian, it had already proven itself more fearsome than the entirety troop he had previously commanded.

The ascent into the cliffs was far more perilous than Mathias had expected, but with the help of his iron guardian, it was far from insurmountable. There were many cave openings into what must have been an intricate system of tunnels running through the cliffs, and likely out to sea. Mathias imagined they might connect into the lower levels of Munatius's castle as well.

As the sun fell lower, glimmering a dark gold over the rocks as well as the water, Mathias could see the reflections of it shining off of dozens of hidden eyes, deep within those caves. After a little while he could make out the dark silhouettes. Some kind of small humanoid creatures made their home in those cliffs, though Mathias was not seriously concerned by them.

When the castle came into view, its appearance bespoke even greater decay than he had anticipated. The moisture of the sea had aided the wind and overgrowth in reclaiming much of what had been erected so long ago. As they got closer, the only distinguishing feature to hint at activity was the faintest yellow glow emanating from deep within, just visible through one of the front openings. It was unmistakably the light of a distant fire.

They came to the front, and the iron guardian pushed the old wooden doors open. As they moved inward, the feint light grew. Mathias could see the walls were lined with tables and book cases in terrible disarray. Books, writing, and artifacts were scattered about seemingly randomly. It was like a much larger but completely disorganized version of his own collection.

Every few steps things off on the edges of the room would scurry through the cluttered piles, knocking over stacks of books, rattling strange metal trinkets. It seemed at first like rats, but with closer glimpses and the growing light, Mathias could see various impish creatures scurrying about. Humanoid like the things in the cliffs, but not the same.

When they came to the entryway of the room the light came from, Mathias bayed the guardian to hold back. He stepped in alone, to his first true face to face meeting with the feared Munatius. He was stirring some boiling concoction in a large black cauldron. A few paces away from him was a young man of about fifteen or sixteen, strapped down to a chair, gagged, bound, unable to move. In front of the boy was a strange black mechanical looking contraption, as big as a wardrobe. It was built up out of the floor, segmented, and was dotted with cranks, levers, and knobs.

"Finally!" Munatius called out as he turned around. His voice was loud, squeaky, and carrying a strange accent, "Finally you've arrived!"

Mathias was struck by the scene. He looked at the youth, who at the sight of him started to struggle violently, and tried to scream through his gag. Before Mathias could say anything Munatius continued, "Now we can finally get started!"

Mathias looked back at the old sorcerer. He noticed that he was wearing the exact same tattered robes he had seen on his astral form days before, "How long have you been waiting here for me?"

Munatius replied with slight exasperation, "As I said before, I've been expecting you for weeks now. I don't know what it was that jolted you off of your primary path, but it must have been something big." He turned back to the cauldron, "We need to get this done now. We can't put it off any longer."

Mathias looked down at the young man, then back to Munatius, "Has he been strapped to that chair for weeks?"

"Oh don't be silly." The old sage replied, "I've gone through four or five of these things waiting for you." He lifted the large wooden spoon out, it held a mushy green sludge, "Now you will help me to kill this one." He handed the spoon to him, "Make him drink this."

Mathias did not immediately take it, "Why?" He asked firmly.

Munatius became annoyed, "Oh why do men like us kill any of the people we kill? Why did you slay the entirety of Antioch? Your own men and surrogate father? Because it served your ends. Now quickly, it needs to be hot."

He pressed the spoon toward Mathias, who finally took it. With a slight nod and a shocked expression he walked over to the youth. After a moment he pulled down the gag from his mouth. He immediately started pleading, "Please, sir! You have to help me! I'll gi-"

Mathias shoved the large spoon into the young man's mouth, using it to force its full contents in. He choked the scolding contents down, then started to scream. Mathias forced the gag back in place, and the boy continued to struggle all the harder.

Munatius walked up with a wide grin on his face, and an open spell book in his hands, "Alright, when I start, you turn that crank all the way." He pointed at a crank on the strange contraption, "Then pull those three levers in order." He pointed and motioned the order.

Munatius started the spell in old Latin, "Duo ex guttis olei ulcus natum est, de noctua miscere sanguine cum per herbam, quod est rubrum."

The boy's seizing intensified. Mathias followed his instructions, and as he did, the mechanics of the contraption activated, opening it up and moving the central structure upward. With the pulling of the last lever, it opened and a large crystal ball was revealed at its center. It was glowing a bright purple.

"Take those vials!" Munatius shouted at Mathias while pointing at a pair to the side, "Catch his tears in them!"

Mathias did as told just in time. He caught the milky white liquid that suddenly came pouting from the boy's eyes, as the crystal ball glowed bright and brighter.

Munatius continued the spell, "A suffectione pustulis correptus, et morturi scriptor pollicem." He closed the book, turned to Mathias, "Give them to me." He snatched up the vials and downed their contents in two quick gulps, before smashing them onto the floor.

The youth suddenly exhaled heavily, and a misty green haze surrounded his body. Munatius quickly stepped forward and started to inhale it. He turned to Mathias again, "You're welcome to join me if you'd like."

Mathias stared puzzledly at the seemingly crazed man before him. He wondered if this were indeed the storied sorcerer he had read about, or merely the demented remnant of such a being, "No thank you." He replied.

Munatius shrugged, and continued, until the cloud was gone, and the boy was dead. When it was done, the old wizard was visibly invigorated. Still the same elderly man, but the act had slightly renewed him. His madness clearly had some kind of reasoning behind it. The whole of the place started to feel the same way, from the placement of his things, to the workings of his contraption. It was an expansion of who he was.

Munatius walked over to one of the many book shelves and lifted up his grimoire as if to place it, when suddenly another small humanoid creature, about the size of a kitten, reached out from between two other books and took it from him. It paced it with the others and nestled back in between them.

There suddenly came another scurrying in the corner of the room as some other creature ran across the floor. Munatius stomped toward it, "Get the hell out of here!" He screamed.

"What is all of this?" Mathias asked, still heavily lost.

"Oh this place is infested!" The old man scolded, as if their were anyone to blame other than himself, "We're over run with vermin, imps, goblins, trolls..." He turned back to Mathias, "The little ones, not the big ones. The occasional poltergeist. Why, I've even been visited by a dragon or two." He turned away again, as his mind wandered, "But not in some time."

Mathias finally cut into the rant, "No!" he shouted, "What is the purpose of this work? Why have a I been summoned here?"

"Don't turn away from my lessons, boy." Munatius said angrily, "Everything I do and say is riddled with purpose."

"Why did we kill that boy?" Mathias demanded.

Munatius got even more annoyed, "Come now, surely you are fine with the snuffing of a life or two in our pursuits."

"I have killed, yes." Mathias said, "But I would know the reason why. I don't kill unless I have to."

"Oh psh..." The old wizard guffawed, "So you just had to kill all the children in Antioch? The peaceful druids to the south? Your own men, many of whom still held faith in you? Do not lecture me for doing what I need do, by whatever means works for me." His gaze hardened as he spoke, "I, like you, do only what is necessary to get what I want. That is why you killed all those people, that and no more, they stood in the way of what you wanted. Own it, boy."

Mathias was stunned silent by the reprimand. Munatius had succeeded at prying into his inner emotions, his guilt which had so freshly been at least partially restored. Munatius's tone softened back down to his normal oddness, "I must rest now, we will speak in the morning."

Mathias confusedly asked, "And what should I do in the mean time then?"

Munatius shrugged, "Find some place here decent enough to sleep in, I suppose. Help yourself." With those words he started shuffling off.

As he approached the doorway he saw the iron guardian Mathias had brought with him. He pointed up at it, and chuckled with a smile, turned back to Mathias, "I like that. Nice work." He slapped the iron puppet on the shoulder firmly, then continued into the castle.

The next morning Mathias awoke in the remnants of a bed he had selected the night before. His iron guardian stood at attention at the foot of the mattress. He was glad to have something so mighty at his side. A knock came at the door. He was quickly up and ready. He opened, and was surprised again.

Standing in front of him was a man even more elderly than Munatius, he spoke quickly, "The master is ready for you in the dining hall." The iron guard stepped toward them and the man jumped back with a frightened shout, "Oh! Um..." He continued, "He will see you for breakfast." He turned and quickly hurried away.

Mathias was soon in the dining hall to meet with the wizard again. The iron guard accompanied him, keeping two steps behind. Munatius was sitting at the table. The servant was toiling nearby at a half ruined cooking hearth. A basket off eggs sat on a counter top next to him. When Mathias and his guard entered, Munatius stood up excited. The servant recoiled back, again out of fear of the iron puppet.

Munatius laughed and complimented, "Haha! That things is so awe inspiring! You have really committed an act of art with it." He looked over to Mathias, "I can sense how it was made. Do you think I could do it with Lawrence here?" He pointed at the servant, who became dreadfully worried by the question.

Mathias looked up at the aged Lawrence, who looked close to his 80's, if not there already. He turned back to Munatius, "I doubt his spirit retains the fortitude to complete the transference. A good amount of the soul is burned away in the process."

"Hm..." Munatius pondered, "So what would happen if we tried?"

Mathias looked back at Lawrence, dreadful seriousness upon his face. The old man was looking back at him with terror. He turned back to Munatius, "It would almost certainly burn away his soul completely, utterly destroying any trace of it." Lawrence gasped loudly at the information.

"Hm..." Munatius nodded as he pondered further, calculated in his mind, "So, worst case scenario we can just try again with the next one?"

"I appreciate your interest in my work." Mathias said rather than answering, "But I would much rather get into what I witnessed last night, and what else you have to show me."

Munatius was again disappointed, "Well, my boy, how do you intend to learn anything from me if you refuse to listen to anything I actually have to say?"

Mathias stared at him for a moment, "I just don't see how any of this could be relevant."

"Yes." Munatius said, "There is much that you don't see."

Mathias was about to reply with some combative response, but stopped himself. He just stared at Munatius silently for a moment, before offering, "Forgive me."

"Of course." Munatius said, with a slight grumble. He turned to Lawrence, "How are those eggs coming now?"

"Almost done, master!" Lawrence called in reply.

Munatius turned back to Mathias and laughed, "You know, when I met Lawrence, he was possessed by a demon. By his own damn hands." He turned to his servant again, the grin remaining on his face, shaking his finger in a mock scolding motion, "You just had to get involved with that cult!"

He laughed again, turned back to Mathias "He was so desperate to get it out. He offered me everything. He offered to serve me for the rest of his life. Not to terrible of a sentence, figuring he was talking to an already elderly man." He shook his head as his laughter subtly softened, "That was fifty years ago!"

"So he's been forced to keep his promise." Mathias said in all seriousness, "A promise he made assuming that he wouldn't. Seems like a special kind of justice."

"Cosmic justice." Munatius said, "He sees to my every need now. You stood in his normal place last night. He has helped me in the process hundreds of times." He spoke the next part loudly, intended more for Lawrence than Mathias, "He must've been happy to have the night off!"

"Yes sir!" Lawrence called out sheepishly.

"He really does make great eggs." Munatius said.

Mathias's temper was straining. He had agreed to listen to the man talk, but he seemed to be walking a line into more and more mundane topics, "Well how nice for you both." He said curtly.

Munatius laughed ever harder in response, "Cooking eggs is easy I suppose, if you have a good recipe." He nodded to Mathias, pressing his patience further, "Wouldn't you agree Mister Cronqvist?"

Mathias exhaled heavily, "Sure."

"How many ways do you think there is to cook an egg?" Munatius asked, a surprising edge coming into his tone.

Mathias shook his head, still confused, "I don't know. Probably many."

"Do you think you could do it? Right now? Without a recipe?" Munatius asked, seeming to be serious.

Mathias chuckled with exasperation, "Of course. Do you really want me to cook eggs for you? Is that why I've come?"

"No." Munatius replied, "But if I did, how would you go about it?"

Mathias paused for a moment, before nodding toward Lawrence, "Like he is. Hold the pan over the fire, stir them around."

"Yes." Munatius nodded, "Yes. A reliable method. Probably the preferred." He stoked his chin in silence for a moment, before pressing further, "Do you think anyone could cook an egg, so long as they had the recipe and instructions?"

Mathias thought for a moment, "Probably not everyone, but many, if not most."

"And some..." Munatius continued, "Might not even need the recipe?" He asked.

Mathias nodded, "Some yes, some people take naturally to the culinary arts."

Munatius laughed again, "Yes! They do!" He stroked his chin again, "I wonder. The best, most delicious, eggs in the world..." He turned to Mathias, "Do you imagine they would come from someone merely following a recipe, as closely as possible?"

Mathias stared at Munatius as the full meaning of the seemingly mundane line of questioning became more and more apparent, "No, I do not."

"Hm..." Munatius exclaimed lightly, "So then why, thus far, have you conducted all of your magic in such a way?"

Mathias's eyes widened slightly. He could momentarily call forth no words. Munatius continued, "This beautiful work of art..." He motioned at the iron puppet, "This is your most unique work, spun together from various disciplines, something new. This was not merely copied word by word from the writings of some old man. It is the closest you've come to something truly impressive."

Mathias nodded, and Munatius continued, "You see all those spell books, grimoires, scrolls, notebooks, every written word you have devoured... They are all just recipe books. The way others before you have found to make things work as close to what they wanted as they were able. They are not the only ways, nor frequently the best. To be truly wise, and powerful, you must venture inward, discover your own magic, your own means of interacting with and integrating into the wider knowledge of the universe."

Mathias finally found words again, "So you do hold true wisdom. That is good to know."

Munatius continued down a previous tangent, to drive his philosophy home, "Did you know I once saw a chicken, full with eggs, struck by lightning? All of it's eggs were fully cooked! Haha!" He laughed again, more pleasantly than any of the previous, "There are ways of doing things that no other human mind has ever conceived! They are ours to discover! Ours for the taking!"

Mathias finally smiled, and nodded in agreement, "Yes, I supposed you're right." There was true, deep knowledge to be mined from this crazy old man. He had not wasted his time in coming, as he had started to fear. He sat back and listened. The mad seemingly unending tangents held vast amounts of information, they just had to run long enough.


	20. Chapter 20: Acceptance

**Chapter 20: Acceptance**

The following days and weeks were filled with much, more half mad philosophical ramblings about magic and eggs and other seemingly banal topics that Munatius's half genius could spin into near epiphany. The days were also heavy with mind warping experimentation, opening inconceivable perspectives into things Mathias had previously believed himself to understand so well.

Some time after he arrived, though his perception of time was too skewed to know how long it had been, he found himself working once again in a strange and complicated spell of some sort, completely unaware of what it was he was helping to accomplish. The floor was lined with seemingly random objects, books, pots and pans, fire wood, even bones. Mathias surmised that it was the material they were made from that mattered, not the objects themselves. They were arranged into crude circles and what seemed to be symbols.

He was holding an old rolled up scroll that looked like it might turn to dust at any moment, and watching Munatius as he walked around the arranged items, sprinkling little bits of blood from a glass bottle. The aged wizard nodded at him.

With incredible care, Mathias very slowly and gently opened the scroll. He knew that he was to read from it, so expected it to be of one of the myriad, probably ancient, languages he was familiar with. He was surprised to be only half right. The language of the spell was shockingly his own. He looked up at Munatius, who nodded to him again, a bit more emphatically.

Mathias read aloud from the scroll, "Bind these materials. I call upon the ancient powers, and the four winds. I call upon the light of creation, and abomination. Supply us, o holy powers, with the labor we tax of you."

The blood drops on the stone floor all began to sizzle as if sitting on a hot pan. Munatius walked to the side of the room where a large bloody sack was sitting against the wall. He brought it over near the center of the seeming randomly assorted items and dumped out its contents. It was filled with large chunks of raw, somewhat spoiled meat.

As the meat plopped onto the ground, tiny wet flecks of decomposing animal flesh speckled Mathias's face. He winced, as an anger started to well up within him. He had been growing increasingly frustrated with the old mage, but he did get results. The smell that soon emanated to him, was even worse still.

Munatius barked out his part quick and annoyed, "Yes! Give us what we ask you for. Do what we want. Make all this shit into something useful! Ugeedna!"

There was a sudden powerful shock wave that pulsed through the room. All the randomly assorted items melted away. Another moment and the hunks of meat began to shift around, and grow. Globular chunks morphed and pulled away forming grotesque lumpy limbs. When the abhorrent shifting and mutating ceased, there stood several small, lumpy, slightly man-like, hunched back creatures.

Munatius grabbed a pile of torn up burlap, other harsh fabric, some very basic sowing tools, and tossed it all at the things, while shouting aggressively, "Well dress yourselves now and get to work! You've much to do!" They scrambled to take up what he had provided and immediately got to work fashioning basic primitive clothing. Grunting and growling in inhuman high pitched tones.

Mathias watched with something bordering disgust. It was a feeling he was growing rather accustomed to. He shook his head, finally protesting, "What the hell was all of this for? More little creatures? Your home and the surrounding area is already infested with similar freaks of nature."

Munatius looked over at him and retorted defensively, "Well I like little monstery critters. It's good to have eyes and ears all over the place." He frowned smugly, and looked over at his new creations, "These one's a re a little smarter, I've actually got something very important in mind for them. They can do it quicker than we could."

"And what is that?" Mathias asked, stone voiced, more than a little fed up with half answers and riddles.

Munatius laughed, "Well I'm sure you know by now that you[ll see. But we have other things to talk about first."

He turned without waiting for Mathias to respond, and started walking out of the room. Mathias quickly stormed after him, unhappy with reply, "Wait! He reached him and grabbed him by the shoulder.

Munatius looked up at the younger sorcerer with an annoyed gaze. Mathias barked out, "I need to know what we are doing here. You told me that you would be freely giving me the knowledge I seek. That does not feel like what is happening."

Munatius sighed deeply, "Boy, I'm tying. I really am, and I know it's not all your fault, but you need to understand that I do the things I do, the way I do them, for a reason." He shook his head and laughed at himself, "The best reason. Because it works, well."

Mathias remained confused, and increasingly exacerbated, "I thought the whole point of all of this was that we don't have to do magic the same way it's always been done?"

The aged wizard rolled his eyes with an exhausted befuddlement, "My boy, you are supposed to be incredibly intelligent, yet grasp so very little." He turned to stand square shouldered with Mathias, looked him in the eyes and spoke more seriously, "I'm not repeating some ancient shaman or druid's words and actions. I am doing what I have found to work best, myself, for me. I do not mean to tell you that your powers will become random trifles that you achieve at a whim, only that your greatest means lie outside the realm of some other long dead mage's accomplishments. Find them, remember them, master them."

Mathias stood resolute and silent, Munatius continued, "My spells seem to work better when I tell no one, even those participating, what the purpose of the spell actually is. Secret magic, I like to think of it as." He laughed happily at his own perceived wit.

Mathias sighed, shaking his head and frowning, "So I imagine that means you can't tell me what those things are off to accomplish then either?" The lunacy and genius of the old man played right on the edge of each other to a maddening perfection. Enough to drive Mathias wild, but still hold him with curiosity.

Munatius just kept laughing, "No, I suppose I cannot."

Mathias shook his head. He already knew better than to protest. He asked another question nagging at him, one he felt was more likely something Munatius intended for him to ask, "And what of that spell that I read? In my own relatively modern language, yet such ancient and vulgar display of power?"

Munatius smiled, "I believe you have already sussed out the answer to that one."

Mathias's expression shifted, a semblance of a smile returned as the tiniest laugh escaped through his nose, "I guess it should not matter what language I use. The things I command are not truly based on aural vocabulary anyway."

Munatius nodded as his grin stuck in place, "So long as you have faith in it, and your own ability. The words are just a guide."

He turned away to the creatures they had created. They were mostly clothed now in the crudest version of the word permissible, but they all started scurrying off out of the room. He could not help but wonder to what ends these things would serve.

Munatius nodded and bowed toward the door they had exited, and the two of them followed behind. In the hall Mathias's iron guardian stood waiting in silence. The old wizard looked up at it, patted it vigorously on the chest, then turned back to Mathias, "Do you think your fellow could help them? They can handle the finer details without problem, but they cannot lug much around at once. Some muscle would be a great boon to their, and by extension our own, work."

Mathias paused for a moment, staring at what was thus far his most significant accomplishment. Then nodded in the affirmative, "That's fine." He then nodded to the guard and it followed off in the direction the creatures had gone.

"So what will we do now, then?" Mathias asked.

Munatius answered without a hint of trepidation, "Oh, well I have been preparing another procedure, like the one we conducted when you first arrived."

Mathias was slightly taken aback. He had almost forgotten that they had butchered a man together already, "Must it be now? Can it not wait until I have improved? Come to understand more?" The truth was that he hoped to escape any participation at all. Though he had seen and caused untold bloodshed, what remained of anything like a conscience still turned his stomach at the thought violence not directly in the name of his family.

Munatius shook his head solemnly in the negative, "I've been spending almost all my time away from you, preparing it, for the last few weeks, and I can wait no longer." he sighed with the slightest hint of worry, "I've waited too long already..." He stroked his beard in thought, "I will have to use Lawrence this time."

Mathias was taken aback all the further, "What?" There were a myriad of reasons it seemed insane, "What vitality could that man retain? Is he not your loyal servant? Surely you could find a sacrifice that would not so upturn your way of life?"

Munatius laughed as he motioned to two chairs next to a stair case, "Come sit Mathias."

The two men sat across from each other and Munatius continued, "It's very sweet that you have come to feel some kinship with the man. But it's really no question to me at all."

Mathias was still surprised, "Well, he has been kind to me, helpful. He has prepared all of my meals for the last couple months. I can't help but feel something, can you? After all these years?"

Munatius chortled in a much more reserved sigh-like laugh, "No. I'll not lie and say I feel no affection for him. But in the face of my goals, there is no question. The goal here is to live. Lawrence will buy me a few more days, maybe a week. If I get to work, seriously, it should be no trouble at all having a more suitable sacrifice ready in time."

He shook his head, "The rest of the decade or so he might live would be spent in increasing torturous servitude. True mercy would have been killing him half a century ago."

Mathias did not seem overly relieved. Munatius's laugh picked up a little, "You know, you were the sole cause of my distraction. So in an indirect way it could be argued that you are responsible for his death." His laugh grew to semi-roarous.

Mathias stared him down with angry eyes that judged harshly, though deep down he knew that he was in no place to judge anyone. It was not lost on Munatius, who took the opportunity to drop a bombshell he had been holding back, "Do you know what day it is today?"

Mathias was somewhat struck by the question. It called to his mind just how warped time had become, both before and after his studies here with Munatius. There was something else too, something terrible rising within him.

After a moment of no answer, Munatius supplied it himself, "Today is the anniversary of your wife's death. Your son's birthday" Their eyes were locked and did not break, "It has been a full year since she was taken from you, and your he was born."

Mathias was shattered all over again, somehow worse than when it had all happened. He could not speak. The boldness of the statement, his own surprise that he had forgotten, and all the crushing returning grief. He had known that it could not be far off, but the mind altering nature of his work with Munatius had reeked havoc on his temporal awareness. He stood up, suddenly overrun. He had held it back so long. At once he wished the crumple to the ground in violent sobs and die, to strike Munatius's head clear from his body, to destroy all the world itself, and to keep working as hard and as fast as he could.

"I do not say this to taunt you." Munatius added after standing up himself, "It is necessary, as everything we have done, to get you to where you need to be."

Mathias inhaled deeply, paused while holding the breath, then exhaled even deeper. His brow furrowed as a familiar rage filled his being, but the only thing as powerful as his rage was his mind, which bayed him from ending the wizard's life. There was a reason that the elder;y man so pressed on him. He could decide after hearing it if it was good enough to spare his life.

Munatius continued to chuckle, "I can see I had better make it good." He was as ever ready to tease Mathias, without any extra trepidation, "You see, she... they, are your reason. Your reason for doing all of the horrible things you've done."

He stared frankly into Mathias's eyes, "And you consider it all justified." He turned away, shaking his head and waving his hands, "But of course when you step back with an ounce of objectivity and reason, things you somehow remain to excel at, you must know that it does not really justify it. Not at all."

He turned back to Mathias and smiled, "But you don't care, and good for you! I don't care either. Not about the things you've done, not about the things I've done. We do them for our reasons, and our reasons are absolute. To question them is to question our existence, our universe."

Mathias's hardened face began to soften, as the sinister wisdom and truth of Munatius's words settled into his psyche. For the first time in many years, since childhood, he felt intellectually overwhelmed, like he did in his early studies under his father, less so with the monks at the monastery. He knew that it was absolutely true, but had never for an instant actually stopped to consider it. He looked up at Munatius, but said nothing.

"It seems I've earned the right to continue." He laughed, "You know, I don't mind killing Lawrence at all. I don't mind killing anyone to extend my life. Not women, not children, not even babies. I can get almost three months off of a good baby!" He seemed electrified with excited energy at just the thought, "I wish to live forever, because I cannot stand the thought of dying. That's all I want, and while I know you are considering the pursuit of eternal life, but that is not your end goall."

Mathias shook his head, "It's not."

"It's a means to an end." Munatius replied, already knowing everything it seemed, "You've never even spoken aloud what you intend, have you? Have you ever even fully thought it?"

Mathias's gaze was unflinching, as tears welled in his eyes. He merely shook his head in the negative.

"Say it." Munatius quickly demanded, "Say it to me now, out loud, and be reborn in purpose and resolve. Cut the last meager restraints holding you back. Say it!"

Mathias breathed in heavily again, looked into the ancient and wise sorcerer he, for the moment at least, respected like no one else on earth, "I mean to bring them back, complete, as they were, by whatever means necessary, however long it takes."

Munatius nodded with that smile that now seemed tattooed on his face, "Yes, embrace it, the selfishness of it, the horribleness of it." His next words came much harsher, as the smile finally disappeared, "Don't hide from it."

He stepped forward emphatically and took Mathias by the shoulders again, "Hiding from it, and the way you've been working, they blind you. You've been thrown into the water, and I give that you've made a few good kicks, but it's time to swim, or drown."

Mathias looked at the mad wise man. After a moment, when Munatius released his grip on his shoulders, the younger sorcerer asked, "What do you have to gain from all of this?"

"You mean besides possibly escaping your blade?" His laughter returned, "Trust me, dark power growing in the world does me very well. I assure you my reasons for everything are quite self serving." He looked at Mathias one more time, "Now prepare. We will begin the procedure just after dusk."

Mathias looked back at him for a moment, then nodded, "Yes, I will be ready." Munatius left the room. Mathias remained for almost an hour, alone with his thoughts.

Later, as the sun went down, Mathias, accompanied by the iron doll that had been Benjamin, found Munatius in his study, where the procedure had been performed before. The old wizard was already hard at work, making adjustments and calibrations. This time however there was no cauldron.

"We won't need to force feed him that sludge?" Mathias asked.

Munatius answered without turning from his work, "No no, that would be of no use. The old man has no youth to steal, all he's got is a little bit of his life essence." He cranked a few more of the nobs around, then slammed a metal panel shut.

He stood up with a little bit of trouble, and turned to Mathias. He had already started to look frailer before, but appeared truly ancient at this point, almost corpse-like, "Have your wonderful little guard go and fetch Lawrence now."

Mathias slowly turned to his iron guardian and nodded. It quickly exited the room. The two sorcerer's were silent for a time, as Munatius continued tweaking his contraption, and Mathias merely stood by and watched.

Finally Mathias asked, "So, in taking his life essence, what is it exactly that you rob him of? Other than his life?"

"Everything." Munatius answered instantaneously, "It will break down the base material that makes up his soul, utterly obliterating him."

Lawrence's exceedingly troubled voice came faintly echoing from down the hall the iron guard had exited before. It steadily grew louder, along with the plodding trod of the guards heavy iron feet.

"What is this all about?!" The terrified old man shouted half hysterically.

They came into the room, the guard holding Lawrence tightly by the shoulders. He was struggling feebly against the thick metal grip, continuing to shout, to beg, "Master no! I have served you well for so long!" He seemed to have a good idea what was happening.

Munatius stood up from his work, but did not acknowledge Lawrence in the slightest. He nodded to Mathias, "Alright then, restrain him in the chair. I want to finish up quickly. I'll have to cook my own dinner tonight, until I can teach some of those damned flea men we made to cook."

"Munatius!" Lawrence screamed out desperately, "Please don't do this! You can't do this!" The feeble old shrill voice broke with terror, pure and complete.

Mathias looked at the condemned old man, then nodded to his guard. Lawrence cried out as he was lifted up again, and placed into the chair. Mathias walked to him slowly, and began fastening the restraints himself.

Lawrence was screaming in primal mortal horror. Not even forming words, just loud, desperate screams. He looked at Mathias, caught his gaze, "Master Cronqvist! I have been a good host! A humble, generous man to you! Please! You can't allow this!" He pleaded with complete and utter desperation.

Mathias could not break his eyes from the old man's. His breath became rapid and shallow, as a wave of guilt swept through his chest. After a moment he was able to rip himself away, and turned to Munatius, who was watching him.

"Don't you have an incantation to give? Strangely it was in Latin last time, when such dead languages are not supposed to be necessary." Mathias asked with a hint of anger fueled scolding.

Munatius smiled, "Latin is my first language boy. My father taught it to me when this land was ruled by Claudius the wise. But yes, it was mostly for show. I needed it to look like the magic you were you used to." He chuckled, "And I also needed to prove to you that it works either way."

Lawrence was still screaming, pleading for his life. Mathias turned slightly back toward him. Munatius took large powerful steps, and menacingly approached Lawrence with a scalpel like blade in his hand. He grabbed the other elderly man's head, and carved a circular symbol into his cheek. The restraints kept him from being to struggle away.

Munatius turned back to Mathias, "Carve this symbol, all over him, his face, his body, his arms. Try to do fifty at least. He's old, close to death as is, needs to be amplified." He held out the blade.

Mathias reached out and took it, staring at it for a moment before turning to the hysterical Lawrence. Blood trickled down his face from the symbol. Mathias walked over to him and began cutting away his clothes.

"Please no Master Cronqvist!" Lawrence continued to grovel. Mathias ignored him, and after cutting open his clothes, he took the small blade and started cutting into the old man's flesh.

"Ahh!" He screamed out primally in pain. Mathias continued away, marking more and more of the arcane circles into the thin dry skin. By the time he had done a dozen or so, Lawrence fell back still. Not yet dead, but what little energy he had was spent. He cried quietly, flinching with pain at each new cut. He was the image of absolute despair.

It was not an easy thing for even Mathias to stomach. In a brief moment of weakness he stopped, and looked down into the pitiful, bloody, old man's eyes. Lawrence shot back too life, renewed in violent desperation, "Help me!" One of his arms miraculously broke from its restraint and he latched onto Mathias's collar, screaming more, louder than he had likely ever screamed in his life, "Help me!"

Mathias was stunned frozen, his heart racing like it had not in some time. Munatius stomped over with a small wooden club smacked Lawrence in the four head with devastating force. There was a loud crack and Lawrence fell back and cried out.

"Get down you bloody fool!" Munatius called out, "Don't be an imbecile!" He smashed the bat into Lawrence's shinbone, cracking it loudly. Lawrence screamed out in paid again. Munatius came in close, "This is happening. Get over it." He quickly knocked him again in the head.

Mathias was almost driven to intervene, but caught himself, and remembered everything Munatius had said. He had done terrible things, much worse than killing a single old man. It was well past time that he made peace with his process and charged on forward completely unencumbered.

Munatius examined Lawrence's body. The elderly captive was barely conscious and drooling. Munatius looked back at Mathias, "You've done enough, he's ready. Have your guard hold down his other arm." He motioned toward the mechanism, "Go ahead and crank it up, I'm sure you remember the process."

Mathias did as he was instructed, twisting the cranks, pulling the levers, all in the specific order necessary. Munatius cranked the chair Lawrence was strapped into, pushing into a more upright position. The guard held his free arm down. Lawrence started to come to again, groaning in pain from the bashes to his face and leg, as well as the still fresh and bleeding carvings marked all over his torso.

He started feebly at one final protest, "Not.. the deal..." He struggled out each syllable, his voice rose again into a scream, "My... soul! This wasn't... our deal!

Munatius was standing just in front of him, holding two small glass vials. Mathias pulled the final lever, and the mechanism opened, revealing the glowing crystal ball. Munatius shook his head, "Oh Lawrence, I'm sure you weren't going any place nice. You should be thanking me."

They were the last words Lawrence would ever hear. He screamed as his body contorted and suddenly emaciated, like he lost twenty pounds in an instant. The strange liquid poured from his eyes, and Munatius caught it in the vials, then quickly shot them down, before smashing them onto the floor, just as he had the last time.

Lawrence sat motionless, his skin now a dull gray-white, his face frozen in anguish, his eyes blank white pools. Munatius stood up just a bit straighter, took a deep breath. His energy had returned, but he retained the extreme agedness. He turned to Mathias, "Go and rest now. Think about the reasons for the journey you've taken, the journey you continue. Tomorrow is a big day." With those words the old wizard made his way out.

Mathias remained, looking at Lawrence's body. They were apparently just going to leave it there for now. His mind soon drifted back to his family, his year of such solitude. He leaned over and brought his hands up to his head, rubbed his temples and sighed, "A whole year..." He stood there for close to half an hour before heading back towards his room.

As he walked through the old halls, his curiosity got the better of him and he stopped off in the make-shift library, where the fleshy creatures had been at constant work since their creation. It appeared they had by some means multiplied, as now there were close to a dozen. Each and every one of them was hard at work, furiously copying down the contents of Munatius's myriad collection into strange arcane tomes of eerily identical make. For such crude creatures they possessed surprising writing skill and speed. Their work was impeccably legible.

The next morning Mathias awoke for the first time with no knock from Lawrence announcing breakfast, but that fact meant little to him. The act of the previous day's procedure had served as a threshold. Nothing would stay his hand now.

He arrived in the kitchen to find Munatius awaiting him. He was holding a thick grimoire, the exact image of those in which the flea men had been scribbling the night before. Though this tome was considerably larger. The old man smiled when Mathias walked over to him.

"It seems our time together has come to an end." Munatius said with genuine emotion in his voice. He handed the book over to Mathias. Who slowly took it.

"I don't understand. You've taught me almost nothing." He said as he flipped through the pages.

Munatius laughed, as he often did, "Oh my boy. I've taught you everything that you needed me in order to learn. Everything else, you can figure out. It's all in that book."

Mathias was stunned, it was an astounding gift. He had heard no accounts of one sorcerer transcribing the entirety of their work to another. It like giving away all your children. He was confused, he flipped through the book and saw the enormity of it, but still doubted, "What? The breadth of knowledge within these halls could not fit in a single volume, not even one so thick." He shot a disbelieving glance at his aged tutor.

Munatius laughed even more and shook his head, "Come on boy... it's magic! Every single text in this castle has been copied into this magical collection, and fused together into a single book. Merely check the glossary, and you will find whatever you are looking for within. If not, you know where to find me and teach me one of your lessons."

Mathias could sense the power of the book, similar to some of those he had already encountered from his father and others. It would be the greatest boon to his work yet, but he still did not understand. He looked back at Munatius, shook his head, "Why would you give me this?"

Munatius shook his head as well, his expression hardened slightly, but the smile stayed, "Well because I value my life of course. You of all people should know that by now."

Mathias's expression turned a bit stern, "You fear that I'll slay you?"

Munatius chuckled quiet and grimly, "My boy, you have encountered six magic users in your journey thus far, and you have slain all five that precede me. I would be a fool not to."

Mathias did not react emotionally to the fact, though he may have a day earlier, "None of them were willing to share so freely."

"Well, then you see my point don't you? I give you this gift, you leave here, and never return." Munatius delivered the last words with more edge than Mathias had yet seen in him. There was a hint of fear as well.

Mathias actually enjoyed the apparent fear in the old man, and pressed it, "Well, what is it now that stops me were I so inclined as to end your life? I have everything I need from you."

"Ha!" Munatius laughed with a genuine excited glee, "Well I would be a fool not to think of that." He tapped on the spell book, "Should I fall by your hand that book will turn to ash. A safety measure, that you should not need concern yourself with so long as you leave here in peace, at once."

Mathias stared at the old man menacingly for a moment, then back down at the book, "A fair trade." He looked back up, "But it had better not fail me, ever." Munatius shrunk away slightly.

Mathias turned to head back to his room, "I will gather my things."

"Wait." Munatius called out, "I offer you one more gift." He pulled out a map from his robe, "A possible next destination in your journey. I've given you what I have, and while it will certainly open doors to you, many of the answers you seek, I do not have, but others may."

He stepped toward Mathias and handed him the map. Mathias took it and opened it. Munatius continued, "Those who work and trade in human souls. Those who toil in even darker magics."

The open map showed a long path east, all the way to Kievan Rus. It would be quite a journey. Mathias pondered as he stared. Munatius spoke up, "Go now, and go carefully. The road is dangerous, and the destination worse. You seek the great Yaga. She will show you things that even my own wicked soul would flee from in horror."

Mathias examined the map carefully, nodded, and was off to his room. He was gone before midday.

NOTE TO READERS: Thank you so much for all the reads and reviews! You guys give me life. I wanted to let you know that I have been splitting writing this between my own original novel, which I now have fairly complete (4th draft.) I wanted to know if anyone here would like to be a beta reader and try out a few chapters? If so email me at Alexcalvo2808 at gmail dot com, with the subject "Beta reader."

Thanks!

Also I want to assure you guys that I will finish this story! And do have a sequel in mind already, but there is a good chance that soon after I finish this one here I will be working it into an original story, and for that reason taking it down from here. That won't be for some time though, but if you are a fan, feel free to save it.


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